Skip to main content

Full text of "The miscellaneous works in prose and verse of Sir Thomas Overbury, Knt. : now first collected"

See other formats


.; ^ 






ss ! m 

3U6rarp of £>lo authors. 

Cf^tf mans' best fortune or his ■worst' s cl ^WLfe- 
J^lT, that XneWnor marmot] ep£ace nor strife, 
jwe by aaooci, Sj a. bad one ^oscwy JjJ}^- 

_/i/ -wifilikt lic-rj writ, marl fcapfc COffweCU: 

Ofatalserrit-ndiike mui£,miiifcatjt natkreari. 















Life of Sir Thomas Overbury . . . xxv 

The Poem of the Wife 33 


A good Woman 47 

A Very Woman 48 

Her Next Part 50 

A Dissembler 52 

A Courtier 52 . 

A Golden Asse 53 

A Flatterer 54 

An ignorant Glory-hunter 55 

ATimist 56 

An Amorist 57- 

An Affectate Traveller 58 

A Wise Man 60 

A Noble Spirit 61 

An Olde Man 63 

A Country Gentleman 64 

A fine Gentleman 65 

An Elder Brother 67 

A Braggadochio Welshman 68 

A Pedant 69 

A Serving-Man 69 

An Host 71 


Characters, etc. continued. Page 

An Ostler "1 

A good Wife 72 

A Melancholy Man 73 

A Saylor 75 

A Souldier 76 

A Taylor 78 

APuritane 80 

AWhoore 82 

A very Whore 83 

A meere Common Lawyer 84 

A meere Scholer 87 

A Tinker 89 

An Apparatour 91 

An Almanack-maker 92 

An Hypocrite 94 

A Maquerela 99 

A Chamber-maide 101 

A Precisian 102 

An Lines of Court Man 103 

A meere fellow of an house ' 105 

A worthy Commander in the Warres . . . 106 

A vaine-glorious Coward in Command ... 108 

APyrate 110 

An ordinarie Fencer Ill 

A Puny-Clarke 113 

A Foote-man 114 

A Noble and retired House-keeper . . . . 115 

An Intruder into favour 116 

A faire and happy Milk-mayd 118 

An arrant Horse-courser 120 

A Roaring Boy 121 

A Drunken Dutchman resident in England . 123 

An Improvident j'oung Gallant 124 

A Button-maker of Amsterdam 125 

A Distaster of the Time 127 

A meere fellow of an house 128 


Characters, etc. continued. Page 

A meere Fettyfogger * • 129 

An Ingrosser of Corne 131 

A Devillish Usurer 133 

A Water-man 135 

A Reverend Judge 136 

A vertuous Widdow 138 

An ordinary Widdow 139 

A Quacksalver 141 

A canting Eogue 142 

A French Cooke 144 

A Sexton 145 

~A Iesuite 146 

An excellent Actor 147 

A Franklin 149 

A Rymer 150 

A Covetous man 151 

The proud Man 153 

A Prison 154 

A Prisoner 157 

ACreditour 160 

A Sargeant 162 

His Yeoman . . 1 65 

A Iaylor 166 

What a Character is 168 

Newes from Court 171 

Answere to the Court Newes 173 

Countrey Newes 174 

Newes from the verie countrie 176 

Answere to the very Countrey Newes . . .178 

Newes to the Universitie 179 

Newes from Sea 180 

From France 183 

From Spaine 184 

From Rome 185 

From Venice 186 

From Germanie 186 


Characters, etc. continued. Page 

From the Low-Countries 187 

Newes from my Lodging 187 

Newes of my morning Worke 189 

Newes from the lower end of the Table . . 190 

Newes from the Church . . 193 

Newes from the bed 196 

Newes from Shipboord 198 

Newes from the Chimney-corner 199 

The First and Second Part of the Remedy of Love 201 
Observations upon the xvn. Provinces as they stood 

A. D. 1609 221 

Crumms fal'n from King James's Table .... 253 

Notes 279 


HE works of Sir Thomas Overbury are 
now, for the first time, collected into 
one volume. They consist of his cele- 
brated poem of " The Wife;" " Cha- 
racters, or Wittie Descriptions of the Properties of 
Sundry Persons ; " a paraphrase of the first and 
second parts of Ovid's " Remedy of Love ;" " Ob- 
servations in his Travailes upon the State of the 
XVII Provinces, as they stood, a.d. 1609;" and 
" Crumms fal'n from King James's Table." 

Independently of their particular merit, the works 
of Overbury possess a certain charm from our re- 
collection of the fate of their unhappy author. As 
a poet, he was perhaps not remai'kable for any par- 
ticular graces of expression, or smoothness of versi- 
fication ; yet his poem of " The "Wife" — no small 
favourite in its day — contains some pretty passages, 
and a host of precepts which even the most fastidious 


will hardly dispute. It is upon his Characters that 
Overhury's fame must chiefly rest ; and here he dis- 
plays the fertile and observant powers of his mind, 
great ingenuity of conceit, and a force of expression 
rarely equalled by any of the numerous followers of 

Overbury's poem of " The Wife " was written to 
dissuade the Earl of Somerset from marrying the 
infamous Countess of Essex. This has been fre- 
quently stated, and I am now enabled to give a co- 
temporary statement in confirmation. Among the 
notes taken in 1637 " from the mouth of Sir Nicholas 
Overbury," the father of Sir Thomas, (Add. MS. 
15,476 Brit. Mus.) we read " That Sir Thomas wrote 
his poeme called A Wife to induce Viscount Ro- 
chester to make a better choise, then of the divorced 
Countesse." Le Neve, in his " Cursory Remarks 
on Some of the Ancient English Poets," speaking 
of this poem, remarks, " The sentiments, maxims, 
and observations, with which it abounds, are such as 
a, considerable experience, and a correct judgment 
on mankind alone could furnish. The topics of 
jealousy, and of the credit, and behaviour of Avomen 
are treated with great truth, delicacy and perspicuity. 
The nice distinctions of moral character, and the 
pattern of female excellence here drawn, contrasted, 
as they were, with the heinous and flagrant enor- 
mities of the Countess of Essex, rendered this poem 


extremely popular, when its ingenious author was no 

Camphell, the poet, in a prefatory notice pre- 
fixed to his Specimens, says, " The compassion of 
the public for a man of worth, ' whose spirit still 
walked unrevenged amongst them,' together with 
the contrast of his ideal Wife with the Countess of 
Essex, who was his murderess, attached an interest 
and popularity to his poem, and made it pass through 
sixteen editions before the year 1653. His ' Cha- 
racters, or Witty Descriptions of the Properties of 
Sundry Persons,' is a work of considerable merit ; 
but unfortunately his prose, as well as his verse, has 
a dryness and quaintness that seems to oppress the 
natural movement of his thoughts. As a poet he 
has few imposing attractions : his beauties must be 
fetched by repeated perusal. They are those of 
solid reflection, predominating over, but not extin- 
guishing sensibility ; and there is danger of the 
reader neglecting, under the coldness and ruggedness 
of his manner, the manly but unostentatious moral 
feeling that is conveyed in his maxims, which are 
sterling and liberal, if we can only pardon a few 
obsolete ideas on female education." 

With the exception of two small tracts descriptive 
of the characters of rogues and knaves — " The Fra- 
ternitye of Vacabondes," 1565 ; and " A Caveat for 
Common Cursetors vulgarely called Vagabones, set 


forth by Thomas Harman," 1567 — Overbury claims 
the distinction of being the earliest writer of Cha- 
racters which this country can boast. 

Few works have been more popular than the 
characters of Overbury and Bishop Earle. Ilallam, 
in his " Introduction to the Literature of Europe," 
(vol. iii. p. 153, edit. 1843) thus sums up his notice 
of the latter : — " The Microcosmography is not an 
original work in its plan or mode of execution ; it is 
a close imitation of the characters of Sir Thomas 
Overbury. They both belong to the favourite style 
of apophthegm, in which every sentence is a point 
or a witticism. Yet the entire character, so deli- 
neated, produces a certain effect; it is a Dutch 
picture, a Gerard Dow, somewhat too elaborate. 
Earle has more natural humour than Overbury, and 
hits his mark more neatly; the other is more sati- 
rical, but often abusive and vidgar. The ' Fair and 
Happy Milkmaid,' often quoted, is the best of his 
characters. The wit is often trivial and flat ; the sen- 
timents have nothing in them general, or worthy of 
much remembrance ; praise is only due to the graphic 
skill in delineating character. Earle is as clearly the 
better, as Overbury is the more original writer." 

It does not appear that any of Overbury's pro- 
ductions were printed during his lifetime, although 
it is frequently stated to have been the fact. Wood 
says that his poem of the " Wife" was "printed 


several times at London while the author lived;" 
but the earliest edition which I can discover, bears 
the date of 1614: and from the entry in the Sta- 
tioners' Registers, " 13 Dec. 1613," we may safely 
conclude it to have been the first.* 

The poem of " The Wife" must have enjoyed 
considerable popularity, not only from its numerous 
editions, but also from the imitations that were succes- 
sively brought forward. In the same year appeared 
" The Husband ; a poem expressed in a Compleat 
Man:" in 1616, "A Select Second Husband for 
Sir Thomas Overburie's Wife, now a matchless Wi- 
dow," by John Davies of Hereford. In 1619, " The 
Description of a Good Wife, or a rare one amongst 

* I am indebted to my friend Mr. W. Chappell, F.S.A., 
for the following extracts from the Stationers' Registers 
relative to Overbury : — 

13 Dec. 1613. 
To Laurence Lyle, " A Poeme called A Wife, written 
by Sir Thomas Overburye." 

25 Nov. 1615. 
To Laurence Lisle, " A Booke called Sir Thomas Over- 
buryes Ghost, contayneing the history of his life and un- 
timely death, by John Ford, gent." 
20 Jan. 1615-16. 
To Laurence Lisle, " The portrature of Sir Thomas 

28 Jan. 1615-16. 
To Mr. Barratt and Lau. Lisle, " A Booke of Sir Tho. 
Overburyes Observations of his travelles in France, Ger- 
many & the Lowe Countryes." 


Women," by Richard Brathwaite ; also " A Happy 
Husband, or Directions for a Maid to chuse her 
Mate," by Patrick Hannay. In 1631, we have 
" Picturaa Loquentes, or Pictures drawne forth in 
characters ; with a Poeme of a Maid," by Wye 
Saltonstall : and in 1653, " A Wife not ready made, 
but bespoken," by Robert Aylet. 

Shortly after the publication of Overbury's" Wife," 
and in the same year, appeared a second edition, to 
which were appended " Many witty characters, and 
conceited Newes, written by himselfe, and other 
learned Gentlemen Ins friends." The " Characters " 
are twenty-one in number, but it is impossible to 
say how many came from the pen of Overbury, or 
to distinguish them from those of the " learned gen- 
tlemen" who assisted in the publication. 

Edition after edition followed, in quick succession, 
a list of which I have attempted to draw up. The 
descriptions are necessarily imperfect, as many of the 
books I have been unable to see. 

1. A Wife, now a Widowe. London, Imprinted 

for Laurence L'isle, dwelling at the Tygres head in 

Pauls Church-yard. 1614. 8vo. 

This publication was the first edition of Overbury's 
celebrated poem. It has not the characters. Copies 
are preserved in the Bodleian Library, and among 
Capell's books in Trinity College, Cambridge. 

2. A Wife : now the Widdow of Sir Thomas 


Overburye. Being a most exquisite and singular 

Poem of the Choice of a Wife. Whereunto are 

added many witty Characters, and conceited Newes, 

written by bimselfe and other learned Gentlemen his 

friends. London, printed for Lawrence Lisle, and 

are to bee sold at his shop in Panics Church-yard, at 

the signe of the Tigers-head. 1 614. Quarto, pp. 64. 

A prose epistle to the reader, dated May 16, 1614, 
commences this edition, which I conceive to be the 
second. Next follows " A Morning Sacrifice to the 
author," in thirty-two lines, subscribed J. S. Lincol- 
niensis, Gentleman, and, " Brief Panegyrickes to the 
author's praise," by G. K., T. B. and X. Z. Eleven 
six-line stanzas " On the choice of a "Wife " ensue, 
and the poem then commences. The characters are 
twenty-one in number. A copy of this edition is pre- 
served in the British Museum. 

3. The Third Impression ; with Ad- 
dition of Sundry other new Characters. London f 
Printed by Edward Griffin for Lawrence Lisle, *fcc. 
1614. 4to. 34 leaves. 

This edition contains twenty-five " Characters," 
and eighteen pieces of " News." See Collier's Bridge- 
water Catalogue, p. 223. 

4. The Fourth Impression, enlarged 

with more Characters than any of the former editions. 

London, Printed by G. Eld, for Lawrence Lisle, etc. 

1614. 4to. 

Contains thirty characters and seventeen pieces of 
News. On Sign. F 2 " The Character of a Happy 


Life, by H. W." (Sir Henry Wotton). This edition 
is described by T. Park, in a very imperfect notice of 
Overbury's Works, in the Centura Literaria, vol. v. p. 
363, edit. 1807. A copy is preserved among Capell's 
books in Trinity College, Cambridge. 

i. ■ The Fifth Impression. London, 

Lawrence Lisle, <fec. 8vo. 1614. 

I cannot trace a copy of this edition. 

6. New and choise Characters of severall Authors : 
together with that exquisite and unmateht Poeme, 
the Wife, written by Syr Thomas Overburie. With 
the former Characters and Conceited Newes, all in 
one volume. With many other things added to 
this Sixt Impression. London, Printed by Thomas 
Creede, for Lawrence L'isle, at the Tyger's head in 
Pauls Church-yard, 1615, small octavo, pp. 182. 

In this sixth edition, appeared the character of a 
Tinker, an Apparatour, and an Almanack-maker, 
which were claimed by J. Cocke, as his own produc- 
tions, in a prefix to Stephens' Essaies, 2nd edit. 1615. 
" Newes from the Countrey," which in this edition is 
subscribed J. D. was printed as Dr. Donne's in the 
edition of his Poems in 1669. 

7. The Seventh Impression. Lon- 
don, Lawrence Lisle, <fcc. 1616, small octavo, pp. 

8. The Eighth Impression. With 

new Elegies upon his (now known) untimely death. 
London, Lawrence Lisle, &c. 1616, small octavo, 
pp. 292. 


9. Sir Thomas Overbury his Wife. With addi- 
tion of many new Elegies upon his untimely and 
much lamented death. As also New Newes, and 
divers more Characters (never before annexed), 
written by himselfe and other learned Gentlemen. 
The ninth impression, augmented. London, printed 
by Edward Griffin for Lawrence Vide, &c. 1616, 
small octavo, pp. 292. 

This edition was twice printed in the same year. 

10. The Tenth Impression. London, 

Lawrence Lisle, &c. 1618, small octavo. 

11 . Sir Thomas Overbury his Wife. With Ad- 
ditions of New Characters, and many other Wittie 
Conceits never before Printed. The eleventh Im- 
pression. London, Printed for Lawrence Lisle, and 
are to be sold by Henry Seile, at the Tigers-head in 
Pauls Church-yard, 1622, small octavo. 

In the prefatory matter to this edition is a compli- 
mentary poem in English, " Ad Comitissam Eut- 
landise," which is not in the preceding ones. The 
" Witty Conceites," mentioned in the title, consist of 
" Paradoxes, as they were spoken in a Maske, and 
presented before his Majesty at Whitehall ;" " The 
Mountebankes Receipts;" and three Mountebank's 

12. The Twelfth Impression. Dublin, 

1626, small octavo. 

This edition, which is mentioned in Harding and 
lepard's Catalogue, 1829, p. 420, is of great rarity. 


13. The Twelfth Impression. Lon- 
don, 1627, small octavo. 

Called also the twelfth impression on the title-page. 
See Harding and Lepard's Catalogue, before-men- 

14. • The Thirteenth Impression. Lon- 
don, Printed for Robert Allot, and are to bee sold at 
the signs of the Beare in Pauls Church-yard, 1628, 
small octavo. 

15. The Fourteenth Impression. Lon- 
don, Robert Allot, 1630, small octavo. 

16. The Fifteenth Impression. Lon- 
don, R. B.for Robert Allot, <fcc. 1632, small octavo. 
pp. 320. 

17. ■ The Sixteenth Impression. Lon- 
don, Printed by John Hav Hand for A. Croolce, and 
are to be sold at the signe of the Beare in Pauls 
Church-yard, 1638, small octavo. 

This edition contains the character of " a Dunce," 
not in any former impression. 

18. The Seventeenth Impression. 

London, 1655, small octavo. 

A copy in the Douce Collection. 

19. The Eighteenth Impression. Lon- 
don, 1664, small octavo. 

Called, incorrectly, in the title-page, the seventeenth 

In 1673, appeared " The Illustrious Wife, viz. 


that excellent Poem, Sir Thomas Overburie's Wife, 
illustrated by Giles Oldisworth, nephew to the same 
Sir T. O." I have not been able to find a copy of 
this rare volume in any collection, public or private. 
Oldisworth, it is well known, took a deep interest in 
everything relative to his unfortunate uncle, and his 
" Illustrations" of his celebrated poem, would doubt- 
less contain some remarks of peculiar importance and 

In 1756, appeared " The Miscellaneous Works 
in Verse and Prose of Sir Thomas Overbury, Ivnt., 
with Memoir of his Life. The Tenth Edition. 
London, Printed for W. Owen, at Homer's Head, 
near Temple Bar." It is a small octavo of 252 pages, 
exclusive of 23 pages of introductory matter. 

The " Miscellaneous Works" is a mere reprint 
of the volume above described, without any attempt 
to collect the other writings of the same author. 
From its being called " the Tenth Edition," it is 
presumed that its editor was unacquainted with any 
edition later than the ninth. It is a very imperfect 
reprint, having only twelve out of the twenty pieces 
of " Newes " contained in the previous editions, 
besides many grave and important errors, that could 
easily, if necessary, be pointed out. 

The reprint of Overbury's Wife and Characters, 
in the following pages, is taken from the ninth edi- 
tion, of which, as I have stated, there were two im- 


pressions in the same year. They differ only in a few 
minor points, and in the spelling. The contents of 
both are precisely the same. 

As the present volume is a collection of Over- 
bury's writings, I have taken the liberty to reject 
some few pieces (evidently foisted in by the pub- 
lisher) that were not the productions of his muse, nor 
in character with the rest of the work in which they 
appear. They consist of " An Elegy on the late 
Lord William Howard, Baron of Effingham, dead 
the tenth of December, 1615," written by Bishop 
Corbet ; " An Elegy on the Death of the Lady 
Rutland," by Francis Beaumont ; Sir Henry 
Wotton's beautiful poem on " The Character of a 
Happy Life ;" and " Certaine Edicts from a Par- 
liament in Eutopia, written by the Lady Southwell." 

It is also necessary to mention the reasons why 
the " Witty Conceites," added to the eleventh edi- 
tion, have been rejected. They consist of " Para- 
doxes, as they were spoken in a Maske, and presented 
before his Majesty at White-Hall ;" " The Mounte- 
banke's Receipts;" and three " Mountebanke's " 
Songs. They are all connected, and form part of 
" The Mountebank's Masque," printed by Mr. J. 
P. Collier, from a MS. in the possession of the Duke 
of Devonshire, in the valuable Invjo Jones volume, 
issued by the Shakespeare Society in 1848. Mr. 
Collier considers it to be the production of the cele- 


brated satirist and dramatist John Marston, and 
adds, " It is a new discovery, and we impute it to 
him, not only because his name is on the cover, in a 
handwriting of the time, although only in pencil, 
but because it is corrected in several places in his 
own handwriting, which entirely agrees with other 
extant specimens. The piece possesses much of the 
strength, and some of the coarseness, of the popular 
writer's mind ; but it well merited to be brought to 
light precisely in the shape in which it has descended 
to us." 

The " Mountebank's Masque" had previously 
appeared in print, although, at the moment of writing, 
it had escaped the recollection of the learned editor. 
It forms the second part of the " GestaGrayorum," as 
printed in Nichols' " Progresses of Queen Elizabeth" 
(vol. iii. p. 320, edit. 1823). The first part of the 
" Gray's Inn Revels, a.d. 1594," is taken from a 
printed copy. " The second part of the Gesta 
Grrayorwn," says Nichols, " appears more like a 
banter on the former part, than an actual Exhibition ; 
and requires some apology for allusions ill-suited to 
the refinement of the present age. It is taken 
from a MS. in the Harleian Collection, and is with- 
out date ; but Henry the Second, Prince of Graya 
and Purpulia, occurs in the List of Subscribers to 
Minsheu's Dictionary, 1617." 


" The First and Second Part of The Remedy of 
Love," is reprinted from an edition " Printed by 
Nicholas Okes," in 1620, a copy of which is pre- 
served in the British Museum. It is of the utmost 
possible rarity, and not to be found in any of the 
libraries of our collectors of old poetry. Lowndes 
refers to the Museum copy, but misquotes the title 
" The Comedy of Love." Warton (Hist, of Poet. 
iii. 339, note, edit. 1840) speaking of Francis Beau- 
mont, says, " He also translated part of Ovid's ' Re- 
medy of Love ;' as did Sir T. Overbury the whole 
soon afterwards, Lond. 1620, 8vo. But I believe 
there is a former edition, no date, 8vo." 

Sir Thomas Overbury's " Observations in his 
Travailes," is reprinted from a small quarto pamph- 
let, "printed 1626." It was licensed, according 
to the entry in the Stationers' Registers, " 28 Jan. 
1615-16 ;" but no copy of that date has come down 
to us. Wood (Athence Oxon. ii. 135) says, " This 
goes under his name, but doubted by some whether 
he wrote it." The same writer mentions an edition in 
1627, and another in 1657. Dr. Bliss informs us 
that a MS. copy exists in the Archiepiscopal Library 
at Lambeth (MS. Lambeth, 84,115). It is also to 
be found in the Ilarleian " Collection of Voyages 
and Travels," folio, 1745, and in the seventh volume 
of the " Ilarleian Miscellany." 


The " Crumms fal'n from King James's Table," 
is printed from the Harleian MS. No. 7582, fol. 42, 
where it purports to have been copied from the ori- 
ginal, in Sir Thomas Overbury's oion Jiandw riting. 
It has appeared in print, but from a different MS., 
in " The Prince's Cabala, or Mysteries of State. 
Written by King James the First, and some Noble- 
men in his Eeign, and in Queen Elizabeth's," &c. 
12mo. 1715. The editor says in his Preface, " We 
here present the judicious reader with a choice col- 
lection of ingenious sentences, which fell from the 
table of that learned monarch, King James the First, 
and never made publick before. The substance of 
them are both Theological and Moral ; and being 
gather'd, as they proceeded from the royal mouth, by 
that most witty Knight Sir Thomas Overbury, a 
little before he was poyson'd in the Tower of London, 
it is not to be doubted but they will escape the cen- 
sures, frowns and derisions of the criticks." 

It only remains to say, that in reprinting the va- 
rious pieces contained in the following pages, I have 
adhered to the old spelling ; not because there is any 
value in a philological view attached to it — on the 
contrary, the same word is frequently spelt three 
different ways in the course of the same page — but 
for other reasons which will have more weight. 
Overbury, in common with almost all the writers of 


his period, occasionally uses words and " figures of 
speech," ill-suited to the refinement of the present 
age. In reading an old author, in his own ortho- 
graphy, we can make every allowance for that which 
we are apt to forget or overlook in the more modern 
type and spelling of our own day. 

Edward F. Rimbault. 

October 8, 

29, St. Mark's Crescent, 

Regent's Fark. 



" He cometh upon you with a tale, which hokleth children 
from play, and old men from the chimney-corner." 

Sir P. Sidney's Defence of Poesy. 

y^, *rZ? T =rF ' tale of Sir Thomas Overbury is 
indeed one of fearful mystery. Born 
with more than ordinary genius, nursed 
in affluence, the companion of states- 
men, and the favourite of princes ; 
yet this man, so highly favoured, so marked for 
distinction, was doomed to an early death, to suffer 
lingering tortures, and to die in a loathsome dungeon, 
surrounded by the ghastly forms of murderers ! 

Thomas Overbury was born at Compton Seorfen, 
in the parish of Ilmington in Warwickshire, in 
1581.* He was the son of Nicholas Overbury, of 
Boorton-on-the-hill in Gloucestershire ; and, ac- 

* At the house of his maternal grandfather, Giles Pal- 
mer. It is a tradition in Warwickshire, that he frequently 
resided at Barton-on-the-Heath, which was purchased by 
Walter Overbury, younger son of Nicholas, who built the 
present Manor House there. 


cording to Wood,* was "educated partly in grammar 
learning in those parts." In Michaelmas term, 
1595, he became a gentleman commoner of Queen's 
College, Oxford, and through the aid of a good tutor 
and severe discipline, made rapid progress in philo- 
sophy and logic. In 1598, as a " squire's son," he 
took the degree of bachelor of arts, and soon after 
left the university and settled in the Middle Temple. 
How long he continued in the study of the law, 
we have not been able to ascertain. The writer 
of the " Secret History of the Eeign of James," 
MS. in the Harleian library, f says, at the Univer- 
sity and the Temple, " he was instructed in all 
those qualities which became a gentleman ; by the 
entreaty of my Lord Treasurer, Sir Ilobert Cecil, 
preferred to honour, found favour extraordinary, yet 
hindered in his expectations by some of his enemies, 
and to shift off discontent, forced to travel ; therein 
spent not his time as most do, to loss, but furnished 
himself with things fitting a statesman, by experi- 
ence in foreign government, knowledge of the lan- 
guage, passages of employment, external courtship, 
and good behaviour — things not common to every 
man.'' Overbury travelled for some time on the 
Continent, and on his return home, had the reputa- 
tion of being an accomplished person, which, as 

* Athenre Oxonienses, ii. 134, edit. Bliss. 

•j- Printed in the second volume of The Autobiography 
and Correspondence of Sir Simonds D'FAves, 8vo. 1845. 
Mr. Hall i well, the editor, observes, " Wilson seems to 
have been indebted to this MS. in his Life of James, and 
it is altogether a curious and valuable memorial of the 
stirring events of the time." It was written before the 
close of the year 1615. 


Wood quaintly expresses it, " the happiness of his 
pen, both in poetry and prose, doth declare." 

The fortunes of Overbury now become mixed up 
with those of the powerful Earl of Somerset, some 
of the events of whose early career we must briefly 
bring before the reader. 

llobert Carr was descended from an ancient 
Scottish family,* and had spent some years in 
France, acquiring the necessary qualifications of a 
courtier. Some writers have asserted, that he had 
been a favourite of King James in Scotland, and at 
the coronation was made a Knight ; but this is not 
the fact. Sir Kobert Carr, who was made a Knight 
of the Bath at the coronation, was afterwards created 
Earl of Ancram ; he was related to Somerset. Ro- 
bert Carr had certainly been a royal page before the 
accession of James to the throne of England ; he 
was, however, a mere child at the time, and many 
years must have elapsed before his re-introduction 
at court in 1G06. 

The circumstances attending the establishment of 
his favour with the king, are graphically described 
by Sir Anthony Weldon, whose " Court of King 
James " is worthy of much more credit than is com- 
monly assigned to it.f 

* He was the son of Carr, of Fernilmrst, a faithful 
servant of Queen Mary of Scotland, and frequently men- 
tioned in her letters. 

t Wood calls this book " a most notorious libel ; " Rapin 
" a satire ; " and Dr. Campbell asserts " that the notions 
and evidence it contains are of no value at all." Mr. 
Brewer, the recent editor of Bishop Goodman's Court of 
King James the First, calls Weldon " an infamous writer," 
and " a monster of impurity." But in spite of those learned 

xxviii THE LIFE OF 

" There was there," says the knight, " a young 
gentleman, master Robert Carre, who had his breed- 
ing in France, and was newly returned from travel, 
a gentleman very handsome and well bred, and one 
that was observed to spende his time in serious stu- 
dies, and did accompany himselfe with none but 
men of such eminences, as by whom he might be 
bettered. This gentleman, the Scots so wrought 
it, that they got him a groom's place of the Bed- 
chamber, and was very well pleasing to all. He 
did more than any other associate himselfe with Sir 
Thomas Overbury, a man of excellent parts, (but 
those made him proude, over-valuing himselfe, and 

writers, recent discoveries fully confirm the truth of 
Weldon's statements. 

Sir Anthony Weldon was of ancient family, originally 
of Weltden, in Northumberland. Hugh Weltden, second 
son of Simon Weltden, of Weltden, temp. Henry VI., was 
sewer to Henry VII. His second son Edward was Master 
of the Household to Henry VHI. and owned the manor 
of Swanscombe, in Kent, where he settled. His son 
Anthony was Clerk of the Spicery, and afterwards pro- 
moted to be Clerk of the Green Cloth to Queen Elizabeth, 
in which office he died. His eldest son, Sir Ralph Weldon, 
died in the same office to King James, 1609, set. 64; and 
Sir Ralph's j r ounger brother Anthony, who died 1613, 
was Clerk of the Kitchen to both Queen Elizabeth and 
King James, which office he surrendered to his nephew, 
Sir Anthony, (son of Sir Ralph,) our author, 2nd James. 
(See his epitaph in Swanscombe Church, printed in 
Thorpe's Registrum Rotfense, p. ] 005 ; and Hasteds Kent, 
second edition, 8vo. vol. ii. pp. 411, 412.) 

These particulars are derived from Sir E. Brydges' 
Memoirs of the Peers of England, during the Reign of 
James the Eirst: 8vo. 1802, p. 106. They are not in- 
cluded in Sir W. Scott's notice of the author, prefixed to 
his reprint of Weldon's Court of King James. (See Secret 
History of the Court of James the First : 8vo. Edinburgh, 
1811, vol. i. p. 301.) 


under-valuing others, and was infected with a kind 
of insolency.) With this gentleman spent he most 
of his time, and drew the eyes of the court, as well 
as the affection of his master upon him ; yet very 
few, but such as were the curious observers of those 
times, could discern the drawing of the king's affec- 
tion ; until upon a coronation day, riding in with 
the Lord Dingwell to the tilt-yard, his horse fell 
with him, and brake his legg. lie was instantly 
carried into master Rider's house, at Charing Cross, 
and the news as instantly carried to the king, having 
little desire to see the triumph, but much desired to 
have it ended ; and no sooner ended, but the king 
went instantly to visit him, and after, by his daily 
visiting and mourning over him, taking all care for 
his speedy recovery, made the daybreak of his glory 
appeare, every courtier now concluding him actually 
a favourite." 

The fortunes of Robert Carr rose rapidly from this 
horn'. On Christmas-eve 1G07, he was knighted, 
and sworn a Gentleman of the Bed Chamber. In 
1610, he was created Lord Carr, of Bransprath, and 
Viscount Rochester, and advanced to be Lord High 
Treasurer of Scotland. Shortly after, he was made 
a Knight of the Garter, In 1614, he was created 
Earl of Somerset, and appointed Lord Chamberlain 
of the Household, and at the death of Salisbury, he 
became first Minister. 

During these successive steps to nobility, Somerset 
(for we shall now call him by that title) was not neg- 
lectful of Overbury, with whom he had formed an 
acquaintance very early in life. The origin of this 
friendship is thus related by old Sir Nicholas Over- 


bury, (Overbury's father,) who, in 1G37, dictated 
certain tilings to his grandson, Nicholas Oldisworth, 
of Borton, relative to his unfortunate son : 

" When Sir Tho. Overbury was a little past 20 
yeares old, bee and John Guilby, his father's chiefe 
clerke, were sent (upon a voyage of pleasure) to 
Edinburgh, with 60/. between them. There Thorn : 
mett with Sir \V m Cornwallis, one who knew him in 
Queene's Colledge at Oxford. S r W m commended 
him to diverse, and among the rest to Kobin Carr, 
then page to carle of Dunbarre : so they two came 
along to England together, and were great friends."* 

The circumstances respecting Overbury's intro- 
duction at court are not recorded, but it was doubt- 
less through the influence of his powerful friend, 
who is said to have looked upon him as " an oracle 
of direction." He seems to have been well adapted 
for success, and to have been of a bold carriage and 
aspiring temper. Sir Nicholas has recorded of his 
son, " That when Sir Thomas was made sewer to 
the King, his Ma ty walking in the privy garden, 
shewed liim to the Queene saying, Looke you, this 

* This interesting notice is derived from Additional 
MS., No. 15,476, in the British Museum. It is entitled 
" A Booke touching Sir Thomas Overbury who was mur- 
thered by Poison in the Tower of London, the 15th day of 
September, 1613, being the 32nd year of his age." It 
contains the proceedings of the divorce of the Earl and 
Countess of Essex; the trials of Weston, Mrs. Turner, 
Franklin, and Helwysse, or Elwys ; the Earl and Countess 
of Somerset's arraignments ; a ballad on the same parties, 
not fit for publication ; and " Notes taken a.d. 1637, from 
the mouth of Sir Nicholas Overbury, the father of Sir 
Thomas." It is altogether a most valuable MS., and well 
deserving of publication. 


is my newe sewer ; and queene Anne answered, 'Tis 
a prety young fellow." 

On the 19th of June, 1608, Overbury received 
the honour of knighthood at Greenwich, and shortly 
afterwards his father, who was a Bencher of the 
Middle Temple, was made one of the Judges of 
Wales. In the beginning of the following year, 
Sir Thomas Overbury visited France and the Low 
Countries, and penned his " Observations upon the 
state of the Seventeen Provinces," reprinted in the 
following pages. Shortly after his return he was 
spoken of as likely to be employed in a diplomatic 
capacity,* but the appointment did not take place. 

Overbury was now looked upon as one of the 
rising stars of the court, and the wits and poets of 
the day were anxious to do him homage. Foremost 
among them was Ben Jonson, who thus epigrama- 
tized his friend : — 


" So Phcebus make me worthy of his bays, 
As but to speak thee, Overbury's praise : 
So where thou liv'st, thou mak'st life understood, 
Where, what makes other great, doth keep thee good ! 
I think, the fate of court thy coming crav'd, 
That the wit there and manners might be sav'd : 
For since, what ignorance, what pride is fled ! 
And letters, and humanity in the stead ! 

* The Rev. John Sandford, writing to Sir Thomas 
Edmondes, (London, March 6, 1610,) says, " The ambas- 
sador to be sent from hence is diversly spoken of : some 
say Sir Henry Wotton, lately arrived in court ; others 
suspect Mr. George Calvert, who came to London on 
Sunday last; of late Sir Thomas Overbury, a great 
favourite of Sir Robert Car, hath been mentioned." — The 
Court and Times of James the Eirst : 8vo. 1849, vol. i. 
p. 108. 

xxxii THE LIFE OF 

Repent thee not of thy fair precedent, 
Could make such men, and such a place repent : 
Nor may any fear to lose of their degree, 
Who' in such ambition can but follow thee." 

In Ben Jonson's " Conversations with Drummond 
of Hawthornden," we have the following entry : — 
" Overbury was first his [Jonson's] friend, then 
turn'd his mortall enimie." To which passage the 
learned editor adds, " When the enmity between 
Ben Jonson and Sir Thomas Overbury began is 
nowhere stated ; probably anterior to February 
1602-3, under which date we meet with the follow- 
ing in Manningham's Diary, (Harl. MSS. 5,353) : 
— " Ben Jonson, the poet, now lives upon one 
Townesend and scornes the world. So Overbury."* 
The notice in Manningham's Diary in no way re- 
lates to the quarrel between Overbury and Jonson, 
which must have been of a date long subsequent to 
1602-3, at which period Overbury was probably un- 
known at court. The difference between them was 
after the date of Jonson's lines, of which Gifford says 
in a note, " This Epigram was probably written about 
1610, when Sir Thomas returned from his travels, 
and followed the fortunes of Carr with a zeal and 
integrity worthy of a better fatc."t 

Again in the same " Conversations," we read, 
" The Countess of Rutland was nothing inferior to 
her father, Sir P. Sidney, in poesie. Sir Th : 
< )verburie was in love with her, and caused Ben to 

* Notes of Ben Jonson's Conversations with William 
Drummond of Hawthornden, January m.dc.xjx. [Edited 
by David Laing, Esq.] Shakespeare Society, 1842. 

f Ben Jonson's Works, vol. viii. p. 224. 


read his Wyffe to her, which he, with ane excellent 
grace, did, and praised the author. That the morne 
thereafter he discorded with Overburie, who would 
have him to intend a sute that was unlawful. The 
lines my Lady keep'd in remembrance, He comes too 
near who comes to be denied" Here, in all proba- 
bility, we have the cause of quarrel between Over- 
bury and Jonson. The story, certainly, reflects 
more credit upon " rare Ben," than it does upon his 
courtly cotemporary. 

Somerset and Overbury were each advancing in 
court favour and in mutual confidence. " Such," 
we are told, " was the warmth of their friendship, 
that they were inseparable. Carr could enter into 
no scheme, nor pursue any measure without the 
advice and concurrence of Overbury, nor could 
Overbury enjoy any felicity but in the company of 
him he loved ; their friendship was the subject of 
court conversation, and their genius seemed so much 
alike, that it was reasonable to suppose no breach 
could ever be produced between them."* 

Had Somerset been half as prudent in the choice 
of his mistress, as he had been in the selection of a 
friend, how different might have been the denoue- 
ment ! We must now retrace our steps a little, 
in order to introduce two other characters on the 

On the 5th of January, 1606, Robert Devereux, 
Earl of Essex,t was married to Frances Howard, 

* Memoir of Overbury in Cibber's Lives of the Poets, 
vol. ii. p. 30. 

f Afterwards remarkable for his achievements as the 
general of the parliament army. He was the only son of 

xxxiv THE LIFE OF 

daughter of Thomas, Earl of Suffolk ; a bridegroom 
of fourteen to a bride of thirteen. In a letter of the 
period we have a curious account of the nuptial 
rejoicings on the occasion. " The bridegroom," 
says the writer, " carried himself as gravely and 
gracefully as if he were of his father's age. He had 
greater gifts given him than my Lord of Montgomery 
had, his plate being valued at £3000, his jewels, 
money, and other gifts at £1000 more. But to 
return to the Mask. Both Inigo [Jones], Ben [Jon- 
son], and the actors, men and women, did their 
parts with great commentation. The conceit or soul 
of the mask, was Hymen bringing in a bride, and 
Juno, Pronuba's priest, a bridegroom, proclaiming 
that those two should be sacrificed to nuptial union. 
And here the poet made an apostrophe to the union 
of the kingdoms ; but before the sacrifice could be 
performed, Ben Jonson turned the globe of the earth, 
standing behind the altar, and within the concave 
sat the eight men-maskers, representing the four 
Humours and the four Affections, who leaped forth 
and disturbed the sacrifice to union. But amidst 
their fury, Beason that sat above them all, crowned 
with burning tapers, came down and silenced them. 
These eight, together with Reason, their moderator, 
mounted above their heads, sat somewhat like the 
ladies in the scallop-shell, the last } T ear. About the 
globe of earth hovered a middle region of clouds, in 
the centre of which stood a grand concert of musi- 
cians, and upon the canton, or horns, sat the ladies. 

the unhappy favourite of Queen Elizabeth, and was born 
at Essex-house in the Strand, in 1592. 


four at one corner, and four at another, who descended 
upon the stage, downright perpendicular fashion, 
like a hucket into a well, but came gently slipping 
down. These eight, after the sacritice was ended, 
represented the eight nuptial powers of Juno Pro- 
nuha, who came down to confirm the union. The 
men were clad in crimson and the women in wliite ; 
they had every one a white plume of the richest 
herns' feathers, and were so rich in jewels upon their 
heads, as was most glorious. I think they hired and 
borrowed all the principal jewels and ropes of pearl, 
both in court and city. The Spanish ambassador 
seemed but poor to the meanest of them. They 
danced all variety of dances, both severally and pro- 
miscue ; and then the women took in men, as, namely, 
the Prince, who danced with as great perfection, and 
as settled a majesty, as could be devised. The 
Spanish ambassador, the Archduke's ambassador, 
the Duke, ttc, and the men, gleaned out of the 
Queen, the bride and the greatest of the ladies."* 

After the ceremony it was thought proper to sepa- 
rate the youthful pair till they had arrived at riper 
years. The young Earl was sent on his travels, 
while the bride remained at court with her mother, 
a lady whose indifferent morals rendered her totally 
unfit for such a charge. The Countess of Essex was 
suffered to mix at this early age in all the vanities 
and temptations of a profligate court ; the danger 
of which measure was heightened by her acknow- 
ledged beauty, which soon constituted her the idol of 

* Mr. Pory to Sir Robert Cotton, Jan. 160G, in Bishop 
Goodman's Court of James the First, vol. ii. p. 125. 

xxxvi THE LIFE OF 

general admiration, and the object of amorous ad- 

In the mean time, after an absence of three or 
four years, her husband returned to England, full of 
natural eagerness to behold the young and beautiful 
creature whom he was to claim as his wife. But so 
far was the lady from sharing his anxiety, that she 
had engaged her affections to another, and regarded 
with the utmost horror the prospect of passing her 
days with the homely Essex. Among her admirers 
she reckoned the favourite Somerset, and Henry the 
heir to the throne.* The Prince had been from the 
beginning extremely jealous of the favours which his 
father had heaped upon his pampered minion, and 
Jiis antipathy was not diminished, when on their 
becoming candidates for the favours of the same lady 
his rival proved successful. f 

Essex, discovering that his person and matrimonial 
claims were treated with disdain, applied to the 

* The authors who have asserted the fact of the prince's 
passion for Lady Essex are Wilson, Sanderson (the writer 
of Aulicus Coqtiinariae) and Sir Simonds D'Ewes. On 
the other hand Sir Charles Cornwallis, who was the 
prince's treasurer, assures us, that Henry never showed a 
particular inclination to any of the ladies of the Court. 
See Birch's Life of Prince Henry, 8vo. 1760, p. 402. 

j- A great enmity certainly subsisted between Somerset 
and the Prince, whatever were the grounds of it. " Some 
that knew the bickerings between the Prince and the 
Viscount muttered out dark sentences that durst not look 
into the light; especially, Sir James Elphington, who, 
(observing the Prince one day to be discontented with the 
Viscount) offered to kill him : but the Prince reproved 
him with a gallant spirit, saying, ' If there were cause he 
would do it himself.'" — Wilson's Life and Reign of James I. 


father of his bride to prevail on her to consummate the 
marriage. But the first principles of virtue in the 
Countess being undermined, her mind revolted at the 
idea of retiring with her husband to his seat in the 
country, or residing with him on conjugal terms. 

" A belief in the arts of necromancy is well known 
to have characterised this age ; a creed which had 
the king himself for its patron, and rooted supersti- 
tion for its source. Nay, there is little doubt but 
many practised and studied it from a confidence in 
its efficacy, and thus had really dealings with the 
Prince of Darkness, as far as the gross impiety and 
turpitude of such attempts could place them in con- 
nexion with him." 

The dilemma in which the Countess was now 
placed, suggested the idea of applying to some black 
magician of the day, in order to divert the affection 
of her husband from her, debilitate his body, and 
heighten and enflame the illicit passion of Somerset. 
She found a willing assistant in Anne Turner, " a 
doctor of physic's widow, a woman whom prodigality 
and looseness had brought low ; yet her pride would 
make her fly any pitch, rather than fall into the jaws 
of want."* This woman introduced her to Dr. 
Forman, of Lambeth, a reputed wizard, one of those 

* Mrs. Turner was remarkable for her great beauty, and 
for the introduction of the " starched yellow ruff." When 
Coke, the Lord Chief Justice, sentenced her to death for 
her share in the murder of Overbury, he added the strange 
order, that " as she was the person who had brought 
yellow starched ruffs into vogue, she should be hanged in 
that dress, that the same might end in shame and detesta- 
tion." Even the hangman who executed this unfortunate 
woman was decorated with yellow ruffs on the occasion. 

xxxviii THE LIFE OF 

singular compounds of science and knavery of whom 
the age boasted many. After being made acquainted 
with the nature of the case, the magician commenced 
his spells, and produced several little waxen images, 
intended to represent Somerset, the Earl of Essex, 
and the Countess herself, assuming a power of 
working upon them by these forms, sympathetically.* 
He dispensed also his philtrous doses, to be ad- 
There is a wood -cut of Mrs. Turner attached to her dying 
speech and confession, preserved in the Library of the 
Antiquarian Society. She was executed at Tyburn, 15th 
November, 1615, and according to the authority of a by- 
stander (Bishop Goodman's Memoirs, vol. ii. p. 146), died 
a true penitent. Nicols, in his charming poem of" Over- 
bnry's Vision," 1616, thus eulogises her : — 
" The roses on her lovely cheeks were dead; 
The earth's pale colour had all overspread 
Her sometime lively look ; and cruel Death, 
Coming untimely with his wintry breath, 
Blasted the fruit, which, cherry -like, in show, 
Upon her dainty lips did whilom grow. 
O how the cruel cord did misbecome 
Her comely neck ! and yet by law's just doom 
Had been her death. Those locks, like golden thread, 
That used in youth to enshrine her globe-like head, 
Hung careless down ; and that delightful limb 
Her snow-white nimble hand, that used to trim 
Those tresses up, now spitefully did tear 
And rend the same ; nor did she now forbear 
To beat that breast of more than lily white 
Which sometime was the bed of sweet delight. 
From those two springs where joy did whilom dwell, 
Grief's pearly drops upon her pale cheek fell." 

* The death of Edward VI. was said to have been com- 
passed " by witchcraft and figures of wax." The practice of 
attempting to destroy the lives of individuals by such pro- 
cesses, was formerly not uncommon. Dobenek, in his 
" Volksglauben des Deutschen Mittelalters, ii. 20-28, has a 
curious chapter oil this subject. See also Thorns' Anecdotes 
and Traditions, printed by the Camden Society, 1839. 


ministered to the respective parties ; and Mrs. 
Turner having an inclination for Sir Arthur Man- 
waring, a gentleman of the Prince's household, 
some of the love-powder was secretly administered 
by her intervention to him, by the effect of which 
they believed he was made to ride fifteen miles in a 
dark night, through a storm of rain and thunder, to 
visit her. The Countess however was credulous as 
to the operation of these doses on her own husband, 
and on Somerset, and observed with admiration their 
effects, " although," as Mr. Kemp observes, " the 
licentious passion of the one which she encouraged, 
and her coldness towards the other, were cpiite suf- 
ficient to fan the lawless flame on one side, and ex- 
tinguish conjugal affection on tbe other, without the 
aid of the Sidrophel of Lambeth." 

The Earl of Essex, however, now beginning too 
plainly to observe the misdirected inclinations of his 
wife, interfered once more with her father, to point 
out to her the obedience due to him as a husband, 
and, fortified by his authority, removed Ids Countess 
to his seat at Chartley, in Staffordshire, one hun- 
dred miles from the court. 

On her arrival there, she affected to be overcome 
with a deep melancholy, refused all society whatever 
with the Earl, shut herself up in her chamber with 
her female attendants, and stirred out only in the 
dead of the night. 

In the mean time, she continued to receive and 
administer Forman's damnable compositions to her 
husband, by means of her corrupted agents.* He, 

* Simon Forman, the wizard and astrologer, though 


wearied at length with her humour, and thinking he 
had married one either lunatic or possessed of a 
devil, even let her return to the court, as the sphere 
most suitable to her phantasies. 

" About seven years had elapsed since the repre- 
sentation of the ' Masque of Hymen,' when the 
attention of the people of England was fixed on a 
transaction in which the parties were the somewhat 
incongruous personages of a King, Bishops, Doctors 
of Civil Law, Matrons, and Midwives. The females 
of this junto were directed to examine whether the 
Countess of Essex (the Child-Bride of the Masque 
of Hymen) appeared to their eyes when disrobed, to 
be still a virgin ; whilst their royal, right-reverend, 
and learned associates were to decide, according to 
the verdict of the matrons, whether the lady had 
shown any adequate cause for divorce. The union- 
maker, King James, not only sanctioned the pro- 
ceedings, but impatiently urged them on, and dictated 
their final conclusion.* This was, in effect, that the 

undoubtedly a rogue, was far superior in learning and 
ingenuity to the rest of his mountebank brotherhood. 
Notices of him may be seen in Wood's Athense Oxon., 
and in Lilly's Life and Times. See also, The Autobi- 
ography and Personal Diary of Dr. Simon Forman, the 
celebrated Astrologer, 1552 — 1602, from unpublished MSS. 
in the Ashmolean Museum, Oxford. Edited by J. O. 
Halliwell. Small 4to. 

* Lord Southampton, in a letter to Sir Ralph Winwood, 
dated Aug. 6, 1613, says, " Of the nullity I see you have 
heard as much as I can write ; by which you may discern 
the power of a king with judges; for of those which are 
now for it, I knew some of them, when I was in England, 
were vehemently against it, as the Bishops of Ely, [An- 
drews,] and Coventry, [Neyle.]" " The Archbishop of 
Canterbury, Abbot," says Weldon, " to his everlasting 


supposed marriage, at which the King had presided, 
was adjudged to be no marriage at all, on the ground, 
that, although it could not be suggested that the 
Earl of Essex, now arrived at the age of twenty-one, 
was incapable of having children by other women, 
yet that the matrons discovered apparent cause for 
believing him incapable of having any by his own 
wife. A contemporary writer alleges, on the autho- 
rity of the chamberlain who presided at the door of 
this court of female inquisition, that Miss Mounson, 
daughter of Sir Thomas Mounson, was substituted 
for the Countess, and that, with her face thickly 
veiled, she eluded the detection of her identity, as 
she braved the searching investigation of her chas- 
tity. If we suppose that the Countess of Essex was 
herself examined, her previous intrigues with Prince 
Henry, and the anecdote of her glove, which His 
Highness refused to pick up, because, he said, ' it 
had been stretched by another ; ' and her midnight 
interviews, arranged by Mrs. Turner, in Paternoster- 
row, which az'e detailed in the course of the Overbury 
trials, or are to be found in contemporary histories, 
give room to suspect that the matrons, who were 
doubtless carefully selected for the nonce, came re- 
solved not to cast the first stone, whatever revelations 
might meet their eyes. 

" We may not be surprised at means being re- 
sorted to for duping or suborning the matrons, when 

fame, mainly opposed all the proceedings, and protested 
against them, for which he ever after lived in disgrace, 
excluded from the counsell-table, and dyed in disgrace of 
the king on Earth, though in favour with the King of 


we read how the King prohibited the Judges of the 
Ecclesiastical Court from giving reasons for their 
opinions, and endeavoured to overawe the Archbishop 
of Canterbury by a singular argument ad verecun- 
diam, couched in the following terms : — ' I will 
conclude, therefore, that, if a Judge should have a 
prejudice in respect of persons, it should become you 
rather to have a faith implicit in my judgment, as 
well in respect of some skdl I have in divinity, as 
also that I hope no honest man doubts of the up- 
rightness of my conscience. And the best thank- 
fulness that you, that are so far ' my creature] can 
use towards me, is to reverence and follow my judg- 
ment, and not to contradict it, except where you 
may demonstrate unto me that I am mistaken or 
wrong informed. And so farewell. — James R.' 
The royal writer of this letter assumed the character 
of a divine and a jurist, and trampled on the inde- 
pendence of a high court of justice, whilst he was, 
in reality, demeaning himself as the founder of a 
flagrant act of adultery."* 

The jury of grave matrons of course returned a 
verdict favourable to the allegations on which the 
Countess's suit was founded, and the Commissioners, 
the Bishops of Winchester, Ely, Coventry, Lich- 
field, and Rochester, Sir Julius Csesar, Sir Thomas 
Parry, and Sir Daniel Dun, signed a sentence of 

* The Great Oyer of Poisoning : The Trial of the Earl 
of Somerset for the poisoning of Sir Thomas Overbury, 
in the Tower of London, and various matters connected 
therewith, from contemporary MSS. By Andrew Amos, 
Esq. Lond. 8vo., 1846. This is a volume of great re- 
search, embodying a number of valuable papers and docu- 
ments, unused by the historians of the period. 


divorce, in which the sacred name of the Source of 
all purity and created being was invoked as a sanc- 
tion to a decree, the details of which are superla- 
tively disgusting.* 

It was while these matters were in the course of 
agitation, that Overhury solemnly and affectionately 
forewarned his friend against the ruinous course 
which he was so blindly pursuing. lie urged " the 
marrying the Countess would not only be hurtful to 
his preferment, but helpful to subvert and overthrow 
him, and who would (being possessed of so great 
possibilities as he was, so great honours and large 
revenues, and daily in expectation of others) cast 
all away upon a woman, noted for her injury and 
immodesty, and pull upon himself the hatred and 
contempt of great personages for so small a matter?" 
He spoke of the criminal intercourse which had 
already taken place between them, and added, that 
as she had already deserted a husband for his sake, 
she might hereafter be induced to grant the same 
favours to another. He even went so far as to 
call her a " strumpet, and her mother and brother 
bawds." Overbury was well qualified to give his 
advice on the occasion. He had a perfect knowledge 
of the lady's character, and had been employed 
throughout the intrigue ; indeed, he is said to have 
composed many exquisite letters and love-poems for 
Somerset, which had gone far in raising that excess 

* Those who wish to read a " full and particular ac- 
count" of this transaction, are referred to Truth brought 
to Light by Time, or A Discourse and Historicall Narra- 
tion of the first xmi yeares of King James' Ileigne. Lon- 
don, 4 to. 1651. 


of passion which afterwards led to murder and dis- 

." The Countess," says the writer of the Secret 
History of the Reign of King James L, in the 
Harleian library, (before quoted) " having, ere this 
borne a deadly hate towards Overbury, because he 
had oftentimes before dissuaded the Viscount to ab- 
stain from her company ; yet now, having disclosed 
unto her his speech, she becomes much more re- 
vengeful, especially because he had taxed her with 
a bad name." The fate of Overbury was from this 
moment sealed. A deep laid plot was formed to 
ensnare him, to which, as we shall see, he ultimately 
fell a victim. 

It was proposed to involve Overbury in a quarrel 
with one of the courtiers, and thus obtain his impri- 
sonment. There were none who would quarrel with 
him, and the scheme failed. Sir Davie Wood, in 
some proceeding, had sought Somerset's interest, 
and he consented, provided Overbury should be a 
sharer with him ; this failed, and Sir Davie imbibed 
a hatred of Overbury, who he considered was the 
sole cause of his non-success. The Countess, aware 
of this ill-feeling, sought, under the promise of one 
thousand pounds, to induce Wood to effect Over- 
bury's assassination. Sir Davie accepted the terms, 
but required a surety from Somerset of a pardon 
from the King for the act ; but as that instrument 
could not be procured, Wood prudently declined 

* In a MS. copy of the " Arraignment of the Earl of 
Somerset," in the State Taper Office, it is mentioned that 


" Then," says D'Ewes, " it was advised by the 
subtle head of Henry Howard, Earl of Northampton, 
and Lord Privy Seal, her [the Countess of Somer- 
set's] great uncle, that Viscount Rochester should 
outwardly reconcile himself to Sir Thomas Overbury, 
and that some means shoidd be used to send Sir 
Thomas to the Tower ; after which they might at 
leisure advise what further course to take." 

" The plot then must be," says Weldon, " he 
must be sent a leidger embassadour into France,* 
which by obeying, they should be rid of so great an 
eye-sore ; by disobeying, he incurred the displeasure 
of his prince, a contempt that he could not expect 
less than imprisonment for, and by that means be 
sequestered from his friend." An interesting ac- 
count of what followed is given by Sir H. Wotton, 
in a letter to Sir Edmund Bacon, dated Thursday, 
St. George's Eve (22nd April,) 1613. 

" Yesterday about six o'clock at evening, Sir 
Thomas Overbury was from the council-chamber 
conveyed by a clerk of the council and two of the 
guard to the Tower, and there, by warrant, con- 
signed to the lieutenant as close prisoner: which, 

Sir Davie Wood desired to have an assurance of pardon 
for assassinating Overbury under the Earl of Somerset's 
hand, " which being denied him, he refused to undertake it, 
and so the enterprise was quashed." But the printed 
report states that when the Countess told Sir Davie that 
the Earl's assurance of pardon could not be got, she further 
" promised all favour possible to him, and warranted him 
to go on upon her life." 

* Bishop Goodman says, " As I remember, it was not 
to France, but to some meaner place." (i. 219.) Sir 
Simonds D'Ewes says, it was proposed to send him " am- 
bassador to Russia." (i. 73.) 


both by the suddenness, like a stroke of thunder, 
and more by the quality and relation of the person, 
breeding in the beholders (whereof by chance I was 
one) very much amazement, and being likely in 
some proportion to breed the like in the hearers, I 
will adventure, for the satisfying of your thoughts 
about it, to set down the forerunning and leading 
causes of this accident, as far as in so short a time 
I have been able to wade in so deep a water. 

" It is conceived that the King hath a good while 
been much distasted with the said gentleman, even 
in his own nature, for too stiff a carriage of his for- 
tune ; besides that scandalous offence of the Queen 
at Greenwich, which was never but a palliated cure. 
Upon which considerations his majesty resolving to 
sever him from my Lord of Rochester, and to do it 
not disgracefully nor violently, but in some honour- 
able fashion, commanded not long since the arch- 
bishop by way of familiar discourse to propound 
unto him the embassage of France or of the Arch- 
duke's court, whereof the one was shortly to be 
changed, and the other, at the present, vacant. In 
which proposition it seemeth, though shadowed un- 
der the archbishop's good will, that the King was 
also contented some little light should be given him 
of his majesty's inclination unto it, grounded upon 
his merit. At this the fish did not bite ; whereupon 
the King took a rounder way, commanding my Lord 
Chancellor and the Earl of Pembroke to propound 
jointly the same unto him, which the archbishop 
had before named, as immediately from the King ; 
and to sanction it the more, he had, as I hear, an 
offer made him of assurance, before his going, of the 


place of treasurer of the chamber, which he expecteth 
after the death of the Lord Stanhope, whom belike 
the King would have drawn to some reasonable com- 
position. Notwithstanding all these motives and 
impulses, Sir Thomas Overbury refused to be sent 
abroad, with such terms as were by the council in- 
terpreted pregnant of contempt, in a case where the 
King had opened his will ; which refusal of his, I 
should for my part esteem an eternal disgrace to our 
occupation, if withal I did not consider how hard it 
is to pull one from the bosom of a favourite. Thus 
you see the point upon which one hath been com- 
mitted, standing in the second degree of power in 
the court, and conceiving (as himself told me but 
two hours before) never better than at the present, 
of his own fortunes and ends, 

" Now in this whole matter there is one main and 
principal doubt, which doth trouble all understand- 
ings ; that is, whether this were done vritliout the 
participation of my Lord Bochester ; a point neces- 
sarily inviting two different consequences. For if it 
were done without his knowledge, we must expect of 
himself either a decadence or a ruin ; if not, we 
must then expect a reparation by some other great 
public satisfaction whereof the world may take as 
much notice. These clouds a few days will clear. 
In the mean while, I dare pronounce of Sir Thomas 
Overbury, that he shall return no more to this stage, 
unless courts be governed every year by a new 
philosophy, for our old principles will not bear 

* Keliquise Wottonianse, ed. 1672, p. 408. 

xlviii THE LIFE OF 

If the author of " Adieus Coquinarise," * can be 
relied on, Overbury 's conduct in this transaction was 
well calculated to aggravate the King. He says, 
" It was his (Overbury's) own seeking, as best 
fitting his excellent parts to present the King's per- 
son in embassie to France, which to my knowledge 
he accepted, and seemingly prepared to advance. 
The same writer furthermore adds, " I know his 
instructions were drawn, and additionals thereto, hy 
his own consent." 

The " scandalous affair at Greenwich," to which 
Wotton alludes in the letter just quoted, is thus re- 
lated in Bishop Goodman's Court of King James I. 
" The Queen," he says, " was looking out of her win- 
dow into the garden, where Somerset and Overbury 
were walking ; and when the Queen saw them, she 
said, ' There goes Somerset and his governor,' and 
a little after Overbury did laugh. The Queen con- 
ceiving that he had overboard her, thought they had 
laughed at her, whereupon she complained, and 
Overbury was committed. But when it did appear 
unto the Queen that they did not hear her, and that 
their laughter did proceed from a jest which the King 
was pleased to use that day at dinner, then the Queen 
was well satisfied and he was released." 

Anne of Denmark, however, never forgave Over- 
bury. Writing to the Earl of Salisbury, she says, 
in allusion to him : 

" My Lord, 
The Kins; hath told me that he will advise with 

* William Sanderson, author of the Histories of Jamesl. 
and Charles I. His works are chiefly compilations of 
little authority. The Aulicus Coquinarite is an answer *" 


you and some other four or five of the Council of that 
fellow. I can say no more, either to make you un- 
derstand the matter or my mind, than I said the 
other day. Only I recommend to your care how- 
public the matter is now, both in court and city, and 
how far I have reason in that respect, I refer the 
rest to this bearer, and myself to your love, 

Anna K." 

The Earl of Salisbury seems to have acted as a 
mediator in this affair. In the second volume of 
Goodman's Court of James, is preserved the follow- 
ing letter from Overbury to the Earl. 

" My Honorable Lord, 
As your lordship was a judge of mine innocence 
before, so would I now crave that favour, that your 
lordship would vouchsafe to be witness of the sub- 
mission both of myself and cause to the Queen's 
mercy ; which I desire you rather, because as I 
understand her Majesty is not fully satisfied of the 
integrity of my intent that way : and to that purpose, 
if your lordship will grant me access and audience, 
I shall hold it as a great favour, and ever rest, 

Your Lordship's to be commanded, 
T. Overbury. 
London, 11th of September. 

Overbury is accused of pride and insolence, and 
the various records of the time, handed down to us, 
certainly give some colour to the imputation. At 
any rate during his short career he had made many 
enemies. The King, the Queen, the powerful Earl 
of Somerset, the Countess of Essex, and the various 


members of the Howard family were all eager for 
his downfall. 

The last act of the tragedy was now advancing, 
and Wotton prophesied truly, when he heard of 
Overhury's committal to the Tower, " that he should 
return no more to this stage." Sir Simonds D'Ewes, 
whose contemporary accounts of many of the transn 
actions of this reign, are full of interest, says, " As 
soon as the Countess of Essex had gotten him 
[Overbury] cooped up there, she began to plot with 
Mrs. Anne Turner by what means she might make 
him away. Sir William Wade, Knight, an honest 
and upright man, was then Lieutenant of the Tower ; 
during whose continuance in his place, which was 
but a few days after, he had fair and noble usage. 
But the Countess's revenge brooking no delay, and 
finding Sir William Wade's integrity to be corrup- 
tion-proof, so as remained no hope of making him 
an instrument of murder, she used means at Court 
to remove him out of his place ; and settled Sir Jer- 
vis Elvis, Knight, in his room, upon the 6th day of 
May next following, being about fifteen days after 
Sir Thomas Overhury's imprisonment." 

The gaoler who had the care of Overbury was 
next removed, and one Bichard Weston, a man well 
acquainted with the power of drugs, was by the 
Countess specially commanded to that appointment. 
The poisoners now commenced their work. 

" Upon the 19th day of the same month, Weston, 
being yet scarcely of two days' standing in his new 
office, had a little glass full of rosaker sent him, being 
a water of a yellowish green colour, with which he 
that very day poisoned Sir Thomas Overhury's broth ; 


from which time, for the space of three months and 
six days, he had several poisons administered unto 
him in tarts, jellies, physic, and almost in everything 
he took ; so as the stronger his body and constitution 
were, the more horrible were his torments ; having 
sometimes, upon the taking of one only fascinated 
potion, threescore stools and vomits, and divers of 
them mixed with blood." 

Sir Simonds D'Ewes' account of Overbury's suf- 
ferings are confirmed by the following passages in a 
series of letters written by the unhappy prisoner, 
eome extracts from which are preserved among the 
Harleian MSS.* The persons herein named were 
well-known physicians, of whom more anon. 

" I have now sent to the leiftennant to desire you 
(Mayerus being absent) to send young Crag hither 
and Nessmith ; if Nessmith be away, send I pray 
Crag and Allen." 

" This morning (notwithstanding my fasting till 
yesterday) I find a great heat continew in all my 
bodye ; and the same desire of drinke and loathing 
of meat, and my water is strongly high, which I 
keep till Mayerus com." 

" I was lett blood wensday x o'clock ; to this 
fryday morning my heat slackens nott, my water re- 
mains as high, my thirstines the same ; the same 
loathing of meat, having eat not a bitt since thursday 
was senight to this howre ; the same scworing [sic] 
and vomitting. Yesternight about eight o'clocke, 
after Mr. Mayerus was gone, I faynted." 

* No. 7002, a MS. hitherto unnoticed by all who have 
written upon the Overbury murder. It would have thrown 
much light upon the subject of Mr. Amos's third chapter. 


" Certainly tins gentleman's extreme misery," 
says D'Ewes, " is scarce to be paralleled by any 
examples of former ages ; being cut oft* in the midst 
of his hopes, and in the flower of his youth ; betrayed 
by his friend, and prostituted to the cruelty of his 
fatal enemy ; sent to prison as it were in a jest, and 
there undergoing many deaths, to satiate the impla- 
cable malice of one cruel murderess ; debarred from 
the sight of friends, divines, and physicians, and only 
cumbered with the daily converse of his treacherous 
executioner. His own father, not being able to 
entertain the least speech with him — no, nor so 
much as to see him, petitioned the King for remedy, 
from whom he received a gracious answer ; but was 
prevented by Viscount Rochester fiom ever reaping 
any good effect by it, or happy issue from it, on 
whom he yet relied for relief and help : but he that 
had betrayed the son, did as easily delude the father. 
Towards this end, to fill his soul yet with greater 
horror, they conveyed him to a dark and unwholesome 
prison, where he scarce beheld the light of the sun to 
refresh him. His youth, indeed, even to the day of 
his imprisonment, had been spent vainly enough, 
according to the Court garb ; and he now found need 
of comfort from Heaven, before he had fully studied 
the way thither : and in this appears the devilish 
and barbarous fury of his enemies ; who by debarring 
him from the sight and conference of all godly 
ministers, did, as much as in them lay, endeavour to 
destroy both his soul and body together." 

The poisoners proceeded slowly in their work. 
The catastrophe being thus delayed, a suspicion was 
excited in the minds of his employers that Weston 


was playing a double part. The Countess sent for 
him ; reviled him for his treachery ; and joining 
with him in the bloody work one James Franklin, 
an apothecary " then dwelling on the back side of the 
Exchange," used such arguments as induced him to 
enter more vigorously on his task. Still the work was 
unaccomplished. Mayerne, the King's physician, 
(whom as we have already seen was in attendance 
upon Overbury) recommended as medical attendant 
one Paul de Lobell, an apothecary dwelling in Lime- 
street, near the Tower. This man with less com- 
punction, administered a clyster on Sept. 14th, that 
ended all anxieties on the part of the persons involved 
in the guilty transaction. Sir Thomas Overbury, 
already prostrated by the frequent appliance of the 
poisons, which Weston affirmed to have been sufficient 
to destroy twenty other men, was a mass of sores, 
and reduced to skin and bone. In this wretched con- 
dition he expired about five o'clock in the morning 
of Wednesday, Sept. 15, 1613, and was buried in 
the body of the choir of the church within the Tower, 
between three and four p.m. on that day. 

" And now the great ones," says Sir Simonds 
D'Ewes, " thought all future danger to be inhumed 
with the dead body ; and therefore, shortly after, in 
the year 1614, the Viscount Rochester, then created 
Earl of Somerset, married the lady Francis Howard ; 
who had been divorced from the Earl of Essex the 
year before. Sir Jervis Elvis, Mrs. Turner, and 
Weston, and Franklin, all rested secure to be borne 
out by Somerset's power, if anything should be ques- 
tioned ; and so were all the actors in the tragedy, 
the apothecary excepted, that administered the last 


fatal glister, all in a momont seized upon as soon as 
the thing itself was discovered, although Weston 
presently left the Lieutenant's service after he had 
despatched the work he had undertaken." 

The discovery of the murder of Sir Thomas Over- 
hury, which gave occasion to Somerset's fall, has 
been attributed to various persons, D'Ewes and 
Bishop Goodman coincide. " It came first to light," 
observes the former, " by a strange accident of Sir 
Ralph Winwood, Knight, one of the Secretaries of 
State, his dining with Sir Jervis Elvis, Lieutenant 
of the said Tower, at a great man's [the Earl of 
Shrewsbury's] table, not far from White-hall. For 
that great man, commending the same Sir Jervis to 
Sir Ralph Winwood as a person in respect of his 
many good qualities very worthy of his acquaintance, 
Sir Ralph answered him, that he should willingly 
embrace his acquaintance, but that he could first 
wish he had cleared himself of a foul suspicion the 
world generally conceived of him, touching the death 
of Sir Thomas Overbury. As soon as Sir Jervis 
heard that, being very ambitious of the Secretary's 
friendship, he took occasion to enter into private 
conference with him, and therein to excuse himself 
to have been enforced to connive at the said murder, 
with much abhorring of it. He confessed the whole 
circumstance of the execution of it in general, and 
the instruments to have been set on work by Robert 
Earl of Somerset and his wife. Sir Ralph Winwood, 
having gained the true discovery of this bloody 
practice from one of the actors, even beyond his 
expectation, parted from the Lieutenant of the 
Tower in a very familiar and friendly manner, as if 


he had received good satisfaction by the excuse he 
had framed for himself, but soon after acquainted 
tbe King's Majesty with it." 

Wilson's narrative of the discovery of the murder 
differs from this. He says, " the apothecary's boy, 
that gave Sir Thomas Overbury the glister, falling 
sick at Flushing, revealed the whole matter, which 
Sir Ralph Winwood, by his correspondents, had a 
full relation of ; and a small breach being made, his 
enemies, like the noise of many waters, rise up 
against him, following the stream." 

Roger Coke in his " Detection of the Court and 
State of England," published in 1096, gives a mi- 
nute account of the arrest of Somerset.* He states 
that the King was at Royston, on a royal progress, 
and Somerset was with him ; and when " the King 
had been there about a week, next day he designed 
to proceed to Newmarket, and Somerset to return 
to London, when Sir Ralph [Winwood] came to 
Royston, and acquainted the King with what he had 
discovered about Sir Thomas Overbury's murder. 
The King was so surprised herewith, that he posted 
away a messenger to Sir Edward Coke, to apprehend 
the Earl : I speak this with confidence,'' exclaims 
the writer, " because I had it from one of Sir Ed- 
ward's sons. 

" Sir Edward lay then at the Temple, and mea- 
sured out his time at regular hours, two whereof 

* Roger Coke was the grandson of Sir Edward Coke, 
by his fourth sun, through whom the present title to the 
Holkham property is derived. The author died at the 
age of seventy-seven, and lived during the latter part of 
his life within the rules of the Fleet Prison. 


were to go to bed at nine o'clock, and in the morning 
to rise at three. At this time Sir Edward's son, 
and some others, were in Sir Edward's lodging, 
but not in bed, when the messenger, about one in 
the morning, knocked at the door, where the son 
met him, and knew him : says he, ' I come from 
the King, and must immediately speak with your 
father.' ' If you come from ten kings,' he an- 
swered, ' you shall not ; for I know my father's 
disposition to be such, that if he be disturbed in 
his sleep, he will not be fit for any business ; but 
if you will do as we do, you shall be welcome ; 
and about two hours hence my father will rise, 
and then you may do as you please : ' to which he 

" At three Sir Edward rung a little bell, to give 
notice to his servant to come to him : and then the 
messenger went to him and gave him the King's 
letter ; and Sir Edward immediately made a warrant 
to apprehend Somerset, and sent to the King that 
he would wait upon him that day. 

" The messenger went back post to Eoyston, and 
arrived there about ten in the morning. The King 
had a loathsome way of lolling his arms about his 
Favourites' necks, and kissing them ; and in this 
posture the messenger found the King with Somerset, 
saying, ' When shall I see thee again?' Somerset 
then designing for London, when he was arrested 
by Sir Edward's warrant. Somerset exclaimed, that 
never such an affront was offered to a Peer of Eng- 
land in the presence of the King. ' Nay man,' said 
the King, ' if Coke sends for me, I must go ; ' and 
when he was gone, ' Now the Deel go with thee,' 


said the King, ' for I will never see thy face any 
more.' "* 

The King's detestable hypocrisy and dissimulation 
are apparent throughout the whole of this transac- 
tion. Sir Edward Coke, arriving the same day at 
Royston, James expressed the strongest determina- 
tion to discover and punish the crime, without any 
respect of persons : he added, that if he pardoned 
any one of them, he hoped God's curse might light 
on him and his: posterity. How little the King re- 
spected this solemn imprecation is known by the 

Shortly after Somerset's arrival in London, he 
was committed to the Tower, to the custody of Sir 
George More ; and his Countess was restrained 
under charge of Sir William Smyth at the Black- 
friars. The accomplices in the murder were first 
arraigned, and suffered ; being Weston, Franklin, 
Mrs. Turner, and Sir Jervise Elwes.f The latter 

* This singular passage concerning the King's parting 
with the Earl of Somerset, confirms the statements made 
by Weklon. But it appears from the documents discovered 
in the State Paper Office, and printed by Mr. Amos (pp. 
38 to 41), that Somerset was not arrested at Roybton by Sir 
E. Coke's warrant. He was allowed to come to London, 
and was arrested shortly afterwards at Whitehall. This 
however does not impugn the main statements of Coke. 
Mr. Amos remarks, " When the king parted with Somerset 
at Rdyston, he might have kissed him in the way he had 
been accustomed to do, and might have foreseen that those 
kisses would not have to be repeated." 

■j- The arraignments, trials, and confessions of all these 
parties, may be seen in " Truth brought to Light by 
Time," and in Mr. Amos's " Great Oyer of Poisoning." 
" However atrocious may have been the conduct of the 
prisoners," remarks Mr. C. W. Johnson in his Life of Sir 

lviii THE LIFE OF 

indeed, obtained some pity, as he had been only the 
passive accomplice of the deed. He was convicted 
on some few expressions contained in a letter from 
him to the Earl of Northampton,* and bore in his 
dying words a strong testimony to the force of 
conscience. " At my arraignment," said he, " I 
pleaded hard for my life, and protested mine inno- 
cency ; but when my own pen came against me, I 
was not able to speak, but stood as one amazed, or 
that had no tongue." 

The Countess of Somerset was tried on May 24, 
1616. She pleaded guilty, but hoped for mercy; 
and being pregnant, had determined not to perish 
on the scaffold, but to accomplish her own death by 
placing a wet towel upon her abdomen, after being 
delivered of her infant. f 

Upon the approach of Somerset's trial, "Weldon 

Edward Coke, " however clear their guilt, the government 
so managed the trials, as to render the whole proceeding 
full of mystery, real or affected, — mystery which all pos- 
terior researches have failed to clear away." 

* Henry Howard Earl of Northampton, was the second 
son of the lamented Earl of Surrey. " A long career of 
folly and artifice was followed by an old age of infamy and 
crime. He had actually completed his seventieth year, 
when he became a pander to the dishonour of his own 
niece in her adulterous intrigue with Somerset." Of his 
share in the murder of Overbury, not the remotest doubt 
exists. See Winwood's Memorials, vol. iii. p. 481 ; Wood's 
Ath. Oxon., and Cotton MS. Titus 6. vii. fol. 465. He 
died June 15, 1614; had he lived but a few months longer, 
the gallows most assuredly would have been his doom. 

t It is related that when she was committed to the 
Tower, she passionately entreated the Lieutenant that she 
might not be imprisoned in the same room in which 
Overbury had died. Her guilty conscience dreaded to 
meet the spectre of her victim. 


relates that, Sir George More telling; him he must 
go to trial the next day, he exclaimed, " they must 
cany me in my hed then ; for I shall not go to 
trial, nor dare the King bring me to any ! " These 
words so alarmed the trusty Lieutenant, that late as 
it was, twelve at night, he took boat and proceeded 
to Greenwich, where, on his arrival, finding all the 
household retired to rest, he went to the hack stairs, 
and knocking violently at the door, John Loreston, 
one of the grooms in waiting, started from his slum- 
ber, and demanded who knocked so boisterously at 
such an hour. Sir George More. " I must speak 
with the King." Loreston. " He is quiet " (a Scottish 
phrase for asleep.) Sir George More. " You must 
awake him then, for I have matter of great import 
for his Majesty's ear.'* Sir George was accordingly 
at length introduced into the presence, and the King 
hearing his relation, exclaimed, " On my soul, More, 
I know not what to do ! Thou art a wise man, help 
me in this great strait, and thou shalt find thou 
servest a thankful master." Sir George accordingly 
returned to the Tower, and told Somerset that he 
found the King full of grace and mercy towards him, 
but that he must make his appearance to satisfy the 
preliminary forms of justice, and he shall then return 
without further proceedings had. It is added that 
two servants were kept in readiness by Sir George 
all the time of Somerset's arraignment, with a view 
to smother his voice if he uttered anything to im- 
peach the King ; in order that he might he taken 
away from the bar as one distract: " and it is not 
a little remarkable," adds Mr. Kemp, " that the 
King (in the letters preserved at Losely Hall) dwells 


much on the idea of Somerset being mad, if he 
should say the King had any share in the poisoning."* 

The King, says Weldon, on the day of trial sent 
to every boat he saw, for news how the cause was 
proceeding, cursing (according to his custom) all 
those which brought none. At length arrived one 
with the news of Somerset's condemnation ; then 
this great master of kingcraft became calm. Weldon 
states all this on the authority of Sir George More's 
own relation, who told him the story, he says, without 
any injunction of secrecy ; an assertion borne out 
from the indifference with which the services of Sir 
George More were requited by the King. 

Somerset bore his trial bravely. An eye witness 
observes, — " A thing worthy of note in him was his 
constancy and undaunted carriage in all the time of 
his arraignment, which, as it began, so it did con- 
tinue to the end without any change or alteration." f 

Mr. Amos, who prints the Earl's speech from a 
MS. in the State Paper Office, observes, " that it 
displays a flow of natural eloquence that might have 
become a suffering patriot." 

As to his criminality, Weldon expresses the fol- 

* The letters of the King to Sir Geoi'ge More, preserved 
at Losely Hall, are remarkable confirmations of the truth 
of Weldon's statements. They were published in the year 
1835, by Mr. A. J. Kemp, from the originals in the pos- 
session of James More Mulyneux, Esq. 

f A valuable report of the trial of the Earl of Somerset 
is preserved among the archives of the State Paper Office. 
It is indorsed in the handwriting of Sir It. Winwood, and 
differs considerably from the printed report. The latter 
was evidently prepared fur the public eye by omissions and 
emendations. See Mr. Amos's Great Oyer of Poisoning, 
Section 11, p. 112. 


lowing opinion on the subject. " Many believe the 
Earl of Somerset guilty of Overbury's death, but 
the most thought him guilty only of the breach of 
friendship (and that in a high point) by suffering 
his imprisonment, which was the highway to his 
murder; and this conjecture I take to be of the 
soundest opinion." 

According to a valuable memoranda in one of the 
Losely papers, it appears to have been the opinion 
of the son-in-law of Sir George More (the Lieutenant 
of the Tower before mentioned) that Somerset was 
innocent of Overbury's murder ; but that he was 
prosecuted, because " King James was weary of 
him, and Buckingham had supplied his place." He 
grounds his opinion upon conversations with the 
Earl of Somerset's chief servant. The author of the 
Annals of King James, printed in 1681, writes : — 
" Some that were then at Somerset's trial, and not 
partial, conceived in conscience, and as himself says 
to the King, that he fell rather by want of well de- 
fending, than by force of proofs." 

The Earl and Countess of Somerset received a 
pardon from the King, and were released from the 
Tower in January 1621. The Countess died in 
obscurity, August 23, 1632, leaving a daughter 
Ann, who married Lord William Russell, afterwards 
Duke of Bedford. Somerset survived tdl July 

* Some curious papers have been published in the 
Archseologia of the Antiquarian Society, from which it 
appears that James consulted Somerset, long after the 
trial, concerning the proceedings of Villiers, whose inso- 
lence had awakened the jealousy and apprehensions of the 


We must now turn to a remarkable fact in con- 
nection with Overbury's death. During the time 
of his imprisonment, from the 9th of May to the 
loth of September, he was constantly visited by 
three physicians — Dr. Mayerne, Dr. Craig, and Sir 
Robert Killegrew. Now it must strike the reader as 
not a little singular, if, as Sir F. Bacon in his opening 
speech on Somerset's trial states, " Weston chased 
Sir T. Overbury with poison after poison, poison 
in salt meats, poison in sweet meats, poison in me- 
dicines and vomits," that these learned medical men 
should not have detected the symptoms. It is also 
worthy of remark, that the King's chief physician Dr. 
Mayerne, was not examined at the trial. Killigrew, 
and Lobell the apothecary, who were examined, 
were not asked if Sir Thomas Ova-hurt/ exhibited 
an>/ symptoms of having been poisoned. It must 
be borne in mind too, that Lobell was a Frenchman, 
and that he was placed in immediate attendance 
upon Overbury by his countryman Dr. Mayerne. 
The clyster alleged to have contained corrosive sub- 
limate, which \vas the only imputed cause of Over- 
bury's death, at all proximate to that event in point of 
time, and which was stated (or rather related to have 
been stated) by Weston, to have actually killed him, 
was by the like evidence said to have been adminis- 
tered by Lobell or one of his assistants. 

In Bacon's celebrated expostulation with Sir Ed- 
ward Coke, there is a remarkable passage indicating 

Sovereign who had spoi!e:l him by his unmeasured favour. 
The papers alluded to were found by Lord Sinclair, of 
Nesbit House in Berwickshire, when he became possessed 
of that ancient seat of the Carr family. 


that the poisoning of Overhury, was only a detached 
part of an extensive system of secret 'poisoning. 
The author of " Truth brought to light by Time," 
says, " There never was known, in so short a time, 
so many great men die with suspition ofpoyson and 
witchcraft : for there was first my Lord Treasurer, 
the Prince, the Lord Harrington and his sonne, Sir 
Thomas Overhury, Northampton, and besides these, 
which are no less than sixe, within three years and 
a half ; and the two Monsons, which yet remaine 

Dr. Mayerne had been physician to Henry IV. 
of France, and was well experienced in the secret 
state poisonings of the French capital. He was 
invited over to England by King James in order to 
be his own physician, and there seems little doubt 
that he was the prime mover in the secret state 
poisonings of the English capital.* 

* Dr. Theodore Mayerne was born at Geneva in 1573, 
and had for his godfather the celebrated Theodore Beza. 
He studied medicine at Heidelberg and Montpellier, at 
which latter University he took his degree, as doctor of 
physic, in 1597. He came to England in 1606, and was 
received into both Universities, and into the College of 
Physicians. In July 1624 he was honoured by King 
James with knighthood. On the accession of Charles, he 
was appointed first physician to him and his queen, and 
appears to have enjoyed considerable fame and reputation. 
He is said to have been the first chemist of his time, and 
one of the earliest practitioners who ventured on the use 
of mineral medicines. Nevertheless, he seems to have 
been singularly unfortunate with his patients. John 
Chamberlain, writing to Sir Dudley Carleton (March 25, 
1612), concerning the illness of the Lord Treasurer, adds, 
" And yet he wants not a whole college of physicians 
that consult upon him every day, among whom Turquet 


If the conduct of King James, in this melancholy 
transaction, was free from reproach — if he acted 

(Mayerne) takes upon him, and is very confident, though 
he has failed as often in judgment as any of the rest, His 
letting blood is generally disallowed, as well by reason as 
by experience in this ease, and in Sir William Cornwallis's, 
whom, by that means, he despatched very presently." 
The same, writing to the same, (Nov. 12, 1612) thus 
speaks of Mayerne's conduct on the last illness of Prince 
Henry, — " The world here is much dismayed at the loss 
of so beloved and likely a prince, on such a sudden, and 
the physicians are much blamed, though, no doubt they 
did their best. But the greatest fault is laid on Turquet, 
(Mayerne,) who was so forward to give him a purge the 
day after he sickened, and so dispersed the disease, as 
Butler says, into all parts; whereas, if he had tarried till 
three or four fits or days had been passed, they might the 
better have judged of the nature of it ; or if instead of 
purging, he had let him blood before it was so much cor- 
rupted, there had been more probability. These imputa- 
tions lie hard upon him, and are the more urged, by reason 
of a hard censure set forth in print, not long since by the 
Physicians of Paris against him, wherein they call him 
temulentum, indoctvm, temerarium, et indignant, with whom 
any learned physician should confer or communicate." 
Again, the same to the same (Oct. 31, 1617), speaking of 
Secretary Winwood's death, says, " He had all the help 
that our physicians could afford ; but Mayerne never saw 
him after he had let him blood, for he went straight to 
the King. Of all men I have no fancy to him ; at least- 
wise, for luck sake ; for, by that I have commonly ob- 
served, he is commonly unfortunate in any dangerous 

In the Diary of Sir Henry Slingsby, of Scriven, Bart., 
(edited by the Rev. Daniel Parsons, 8vo. Lond. 1836,) is 
a very interesting notice of Mayerne, introducing us into 
the physician's study. Sir Henry speaking of his wife's 
illness, says, " The physick I sent her down from London 
by y e directions of D r . Mayerne of whom she had taken 
physick y e year before : for his custom is to register in a 
book y e diseases and remedies of all his patients, if they 
be of difficulties, so y* sending for his book he finds w? he 


throughout as an innocent spectator of the trials of 
Overbury's murderers — his ill fortune and bad 

had done to her formerly, and thereupon prescribes y e 
same; usually I went in a morning fur his advise, about 
7 of y e clock, where I us'd to find him set in his study, 
w ch was a large room furnish'd \v th books and pictures; 
and as one of y e cheifest he had y e picture of y e head of 
Hyppocrates y c great physitian ; and upon his table he 
had the proportion of a man in wax, to set forth y e ordure 
and composure of every part : before his table he had a 
frame w th shelves, wheron he set some books; and behind 
this he sat to receive those y l came for his advice, for he 
seldom went to any, for he was corpulent and unweildy ; 
and y" again he was rich, and y e King's physician, and a 
Knight, w ch made him more costly to deal w th all." 

Among Mayerne's Medicinal Counsels and Advices, 
1676, are some startling receipts. He gives a gout powder, 
one of the ingredients of which is raspings of a human skull 
unburied; and again, speaking of the good effects of ab- 
sorbents, he particularly recommends human bones of the 
same kind with the part affected. " These tokens of 
superstition," says Aikin in his Biographical Memoirs of 
Medicine (1780, p. 261), " are not invalidated by a recipe 
contained in the same book, of an unguent for hypochon- 
driacal persons, which he calls his balsam of bats. In the 
composition of this there enters, adders, bats, sucking 
whelps, earth-worms, hog's grease, the marrow of a stag, 
and of the thigh-bone of an ox — ingredients fitter for the 
witches' cauldron in Macbeth, than a learned physician's 

Mayerne died at Chelsea in the 82nd year of his age, 
March 15, 1655. It is said that the immediate cause of 
his death proceeded from the effects of bad wine — which 
the weakness of old age rendered a quick poison, and that 
he foretold the event to some friends with whom he had 
been drinking moderately at a tavern in the Strand. He 
was buried in the church of St. Martin's in the Fields. 
Many of Mayerne's papers, are in the Ashmolean Library; 
others are in the British Museum. He left his library to 
the Royal College of Physicians. 

We are glad to hear that his " Ephemerides," or Case 
books, are to be published by the Camden Society. 


management were equally deplorable. But we are 
not inclined to look upon him as a mere spectator 
in the affair. He was fully capable of being tbe 
principal in all the villany that can be laid to his 
charge. It may be asked, why did he seek the death 
of Overbury ? It is sufficient to know that he hated 
him. The Earl of Southampton writing to Sir R. 
Winwood, on the 4th of August, 1613, observes, 
'" And much ado there hath been to keep Sir T. 
Overbury from a public censure of banishment and 
loss of office, such a rooted hatred hjeth in the King's 
heart towards him." The true cause of this " rooted 
hatred" is not known. There is a tradition that 
Overbury was concerned in the murder of Prince 
Henry, and that his death was only a just retribu- 
tion.* Some terrible bond of secrecy certainly ex- 
isted between King James, Somerset, and Overbury, 
which time has not unravelled, and probably never 

* " The Scots have a constant report amongst them, as 
I learned from one of them, that Sir Thomas Overbury, 
seeing divers crossings and oppositions to happen between 
that peerless Prince and the said Rochester, by whose 
means only he expected to rise ; and fearing it would in 
the end be a means to ruin Rochester himself, did first give 
that damnable and fatal advice of removing out of the way 
and world that royal youth by fascination, and was him- 
self afterwards in fact an instrument for the effecting of 
it ; and therefore, say they in Scotland, it happened by 
tbe just judgment of God, afterwards as a punishment 
upon him that be himself died by poison." — Sir bimonds 
D' Eives' AutoUit'graphij, vol. i. p. 91. 

f Historians relate numerous instances of the extent of 
Somerset's influence with the King; and Mr. Amos re- 
marks, " The records of the State Paper Office supply a 
variety of particulars to the same effect." The letter from 


Much — very much could be said upon the Over- 
bury murder, and documents, damning to the King, 
could, if space permitted, be adduced. But the 
writer reserves them for an opportunity of entering 
more fully into the subject. 

The character of Mayerne yet remains to be 
thoroughly investigated, and his connection with the 
King fully explained. When this has been accom- 
plished it will then probably be found that Dr. 
Mayerne, the courtly pander to the vices of the 
great, was the instrument, and James the First, the 
double-faced, " serpent-tongued," King of England, 
the murderer ! 

James to Somerset, printed in Sir. Halliwell's Letters of 
the Kings of England, vol. ii. p. 126, is perhaps the most 
extraordinary epistle from a king to a subject on record. 
As it has been remarked, " it prepares the mind for 
the darker hints and threatened revelations that followed 
shortly afterwards." 

Page 1, line 14, for " Griffit" read " Griffin." 
Page 54, line 1, for " swallowers " read " swallowes." 





many new Elegies upon his 

vntimely and much lamented death. 

As Also 

New Newes, and diners more Characters, 

(never before annexed) written by him- 

felfe and other much learned Gentlemen. 

The ninth imprejjion augmented. 


Printed by Edivard Griffit for Laurence LiJIe, and 

are to be fold at his JJjop at the Tigers Head in 

P aides Churchyard. 1616. 


HE general! acceptance of this match- 
lesse Poem the "Wife, (written by Sir 
Thomas Overbitrie) is sufficiently 
a/pprooved by many, the worth where- 
of if any other out of malice shall neglect to com- 
mend, hee may well (if it proceed from nice criti- 
cisme) bee excluded as a churlish retainer to the 
Muses: if from direct plaine dealing, hee shall bee 
degraded for insufficiency. For had suc7i a Poem 
beene extant among the ancient Romanes, although 
they wanted our easie conservations of ivit by print- 
ing, they would have committed it to brasse, lest in- 
jurious time deprive it of due eternity. If to con- 
verse ivith a creature so amiable as is here described, 
be thought difficidt ; let the contemplation thereof be 
held admirable. To tvhich are added (this ninth 
impression) many new Elegies of his untimely 


death, diverse more Characters, and Newes, 
written by himself e and others his friends. Hoiv- 
soever, they are now exposed, not onehj to the ju- 
dicious, but to all that cany the least scruple of 
mother wit about them. 

Licet toto nunc Helicone frui Mar. 

Lau. Lisle. 




Poysoned in the Tuwer. 


WO ULD ease our sorrows, 'twould re- 
lease our teares, 
Could ice hut heare those high celestiall 

Once tune their motions to a dolefull straine, 
In sympathy of what we mortals plaine : 
Or see their /aire intelligences change 
Or face or habit, when blacke deeds, so strange, 
As might force pitty from the heart of hell, 
Are hatcht by monsters, which among us dwell. 
The stars me thinks, like men inclinde to sleep, 
Should through their chrystall casements scarcely peep, 
Or at least view us but with halfe an eye, 


For feare their chaster influence might descry 

Some murdering hand, oaded in guiltlesse blood, 

Blending vile juices to destroy the good. 

The sunne should iced his beanies to endlesse night, 

And in dull durhiesse canopy his light, 

When from the ranke stewes of aduKrous brests, 

Where every base unhallowed project rests, 

Is belcht, as in defiance of his shine, 

A streame might make even death it selfe to pine. 

Bid these things happen still, but nere more cleare, 

Nor with more lustre did these lamps appeare ; 

Mercury capers with a winged heele, 

As if he did no touch of sorrow feele, 

And yet he sees a true Mercurian kilVd, 

Whose birth his mansion with much honour filVd. 

But let me not mistake those poiv'rs above, 

Nor tax injuriously those courts of Jove : 

Surely, they joy to see these acts reveal! d, 

Which in blind silence have beene long conceaVd; 

And Vertue now triumphant, whilst we mourne 

To thinhe that ere she was foule Vices scorne : 

Or that poore Over-buries bloude was made 

A sacrifice to malice and darke shade. 

Weston, thy hand that Couvre-feu Bell did sway, 

Which did his life to endlesse sleep convay. 

But rest thou where thou art ; He seeke no glory 

By the relation of so sad a story. 

If any more were privy to the deed, 

And for the crime must be adjudged to bleed, 

To heaven I pray, with heavd up hands and eyes, 

That as their bodies fall, their soules may rise : 

And as those equally tume to one dust, 
So these alike may shine among the just, 
And there make up one glorious constellation, 
Who suffered here in such a differing fashion. 

D. T. 




BUT that w'are bound in Christian piety 
To wish Gods will be done ; and destiny, 
(In all that haps to men, or good, or ill) 
Suffer'd, or sent, by that implored will ; 
Me thinks, t' observe how Vertue drawes faint breath, 
Subject to slanders, hate, and violent death, 
Wise men kept low, others advanc'd to state, 
Right checkt by wrong, and ill men fortunate ; 
These mov'd effects, from an unmoved cause, 
Might shake the firmest faith ; Heavens fixed laws 
Might casuall seem, and each irregular sense 
Spurne at just order, blame Gods Providence. 

But what is man, t' expostulate th' intents 
Of his high will, or judge of strange events ? 
The rising sun to mortall sight reveales 
This earthly globe ; but yet the stars conceales ; 
So may the sense discover naturall things ; 
Divine above the reach of humane wings. 

Then not the fate, but Fates bad instrument 
Doe I accuse in each sad accident : 

Good men must fall : rapes, incests, murders come ; 
But woe and curses follow them by whom : 
God authors all mens actions, not their sin, 
For that proceeds from dev'lish lust within. 
Thou then that suffer' dst by those forms so vile, 
From whom those wicked instruments did file 
Thy drossie part, to make thy fame shine cleare, 
And shrine thy soule in heavens all-glorious sphere ; 
Who being good, nought lesse to thee befell, 
Though it appear'd disguis'd in shape of hell ; 
Vanish thy bloud and nerves ; true life alone 
In vertue lives, and true religion, 
In both which thou art deathlesse ; O behold, 
(If thou canst looke so low as earths base mold) 
How dreadfull justice (late with lingring foot) 
Now comes like whirlewind ! how it shakes the root 
Of lofty cedars ; makes the stately brow 
Bend to the foot ! how all men see that now 
The breath of infamy doth move their sailes ; 
Whiles thy deare name by loves more hearty gales 
Shall still keep wing, untill thy fames extent 
Fill ev'ry part of this vast continent. 
Then you the Syre of this thus murther'd sonne, 
Repine not at his fate ; since he hath wonne 
More honour in his sufferance : and his death 
Succeeded by his vertues endlesse breath. 
For him, and to his life and deaths example, 
Love might erect a statue ; Zeale a temple : 
On his true worth the Muses might be slaine, 
To die his honours web in purest graine. 

C. B. 




Poysoned in the Tower. 

SO many moones, so many times goe round, 
And rose from hell, and darknes under ground, 
And yet till now, this darhied deed of hell 
Not brought to light ? O tardy Heaven ! yet tell 
If murther laies him down to sleep with lust 
Or no? reveale, as thou art truth axi<\just, 
The secrets of this unjust secure act, 
And what our f cares make us suspect, compact 
With greater deeds of mischief e : for alone 
We thinke not this, and doe suspect yet one, 
To which compar'd, this, but a falling starre; 
That a bright firmament of fire : thy care 
We see takes meaner things : it times the world, 
The signes at random through the zodiach hurld, 
The stars wild wandrings, and the glib quick hinges 
Which turne both poles, and all the violent changes 
It over-looks, which trouble th' endlesse course 
Of the high firmament : by thy blest force 
Do hory winter-frosts make forests bare, 
And straight to groves againe their shades repaire ; 
By thee doth autumns, lyons flaming maine 
Ripen the fruits : and the full yeare sustaine 


Her burthened powers : O being still the same, 

Ruling so much, and under whom the frame 

Of this vast world weigh'd, all his orhes doth guide, 

Why are thy cares of men no more applide ? 

Or if: why seem'st thou sleeping to the good, 

And guarding to the ill ? as if the brood 

Of best things still, must chance take in command, 

And not thy providence ; and her blind hand 

Thy benefits erroniously disburse, 

Which so let fall, ne're fall but to the worse ? 

Whence so great crimes commit the greater sort, 

And boldest acts of shame blaze in the court, 

Where buffones worship in their rise of state 

Those filthy scarahs, whom they serve and hate. 

Sure things meer backward, there ; humour disgrast, 

And vertue laid by fraud, and poison waste : 

The adult' rer up like Hainan, and so sainted : 

And females modesty (as females) painted, 

Lost in all reall worth : what shall we say ? 

Things so farre out of frame, as if the day 

Were come, wherein another Phaeton 

Stolne into Phoebus waine, had all misse-won 

A cleane contrary way : O powerfull God, 

Right all amisse, and set thy wonted period 

Of goodnesse, in his place againe : this deed 

Be usher to bring forth the maske, and weed 

Whereunder, blacker things lie hid perhap, 

And yet have hope to make a false escape. 

Of this make knowne, why such an instrument 

As Weston, a poore serving-man, should rent 

The frame of this sad-good-mans life : did he 


Stand with this court-bred learned Overburie, 
In strife for an Ambassadour-ship ? no, no, 
His oi-bes held no such light : what, did he owe 
The prophet malice for composing this, 
This cynosure in neat poesis, 

How good, and great men ought, and all, to chuse 
A chaste, Jit noble wife, and the abuse 
Of strumpets friendly shadowing in the same, 
Was this his fault ? or doth there lye a flame 
Yet in the embers not unrak't, for which 
He dy'de so falsly ? Heaven we doe beseech 
Vnlocke this secret, and bring all to view, 
That law may purge the bloud, lust made untrue. 

W. S. 






HAD not thy wrong like to a wound ill cur'd 
Broke forth in death ; I had not bin assur'd 
Of griefe enough to finish what I write. 
These lines, as those which do in cold bloud fight, 
Had come but faintly on ; for ever he 
That shrines a name within an elegie, 
(Unlesse some neerer cause doe him aspire) 
Kindles his bright flame at the funerull fire. 


Since passion (after lessening her extent) 
Is then more strong, and so more eloquent. 

How powerfull is the hand of murther now ! 
Wast not enough to see his deare life bow 
Beneath her hate ? but crushing that faire frame, 
Attempt the like on his unspotted fame ? 
O base revenge ! more than inhumane fact ! 
Which (as the Romanes sometimes would enact 
No doome for paricide, supposing none 
Could ever so offend) the upright throne 
Of Justice salves not : leaving that intent 
Without a name, without a punishment. 
Yet through thy wounded fame, as thorow these 
Glasses which multiply the species, 
We see thy vertues more ; and they become 
So many statues sleeping on thy tombe. 

Wherein confinement new thou shalt endure, 
But so, as when to make a pearle more pure, 
We give it to a dove, in whose womb pent 
Some time, we have it forth most orient. 

Such is thy luster now, that venom' d spight 
With her black soule dares not behold thy light, 
But banning it, a course begins to runne 
With those that curse the rising of the sunne. 
The poyson that works upwards now, shall strive 
To be thy faire fames true preservative. 
And witchcraft, that can maske the upper shine, 
With no one cloud shall blind a ray of thine. 

And as the Hebrewes in an obscure pit 
Their holy f re hid, not extinguish'd it, 
And after- time, that brake their bondage chaine 


Found it to fire their sacrifice againe : 

So lay thy worth some while, but being found, 

The Muses altars plentifull crown'd 

With sweet perfumes, by it new kindled be, 

And offer all to thy deare memory. 

Nor have we lost thee long : thou art not gone, 
Nor canst descend into oblivion. 
But twice the sun went round since thy soule fled, 
And only that time men shall terme thee dead. 
Hereafter (rais'd to life) thou still shalt have 
An antidote against the silent grave. 

W. B. Int. temp. 


IF for to live be but a misery, 
If by death good men game eternity, 
'Twas friendly done in robbing thee of life, 
To celebrate thy nuptials with thy wife ; 
So that his will no other aime intended, 
But by exchange thy life should be amended : 
Yet wert to compasse his insatiate lust, 
He this last friendship tendred to thee : trust 
Whiles he dishonor' d and defam'd may die, 
Justice anal Fame, shall crowne thy memorie. 

B. G. medii Temp. 






HOWEVER windy miscliiefe raise up high 
Darke thickning clouds, to powre upon us all 
A tempest of foule rumours, which descry 
Thy hard mis-hap and strange disastrous fall ; 
As if thy wounds were bleeding from that hand, 
Which rather should have rais'd thee up to stand. 

Yet shalt thou here survive in pittying fame, 

In thy sweet wife, in these most acute lines, 

In well reputed characters of name, 

And vertues tombe, which all thine honour shrines : 

In spight of envy, or the proudest hate, 

That thus hath set opinion at debate. 

But for mine owne part, sith it fals out so, 
That death hath had her will ; I now compare 
It to a wanton hand, which at a throw 
To breake a box of precious balme did dare : 
With whose perfume, altho it was thus spild, 
The house and commers by were better fild. 

Cap. Tho. Gainsford. 



ONCE dead and twice alive ; Death could not 
A death, whose sting could kill him in his fame. 
He might have liv'd, had not the life which gave 
Life to his life, betraid him to his grave. 
If greatnesse could consist in being good, 
His goodnesse did adde titles to his blood. 
Onely unhappy in his lives last fate, 
In that he liv'd so soone, to dye so late. 
Alas, whereto shall men oppressed trust, 
When innocence cannot protect the just ? 
His error was his fault, his truth his end, 
No enemy his ruine, but his friend. 
Cold friendshiji, where hot vowes are but a breath, 
To guerdon poore simplicity with death : 
Was never man, that felt the sense of griefe, 
So Overburyed in a safe beliefe : 
Beliefe? O cruell slaughter! times unbred 
Will say, Who dies that is untimely dead, 
By treachery, of lust, or by disgrace. 
In friendship, 'twas but Overburies case : 
Which shall not more commend his truth than prove 
Their guilt, who were his opposites in love. 
Rest happy man ; and in thy spheare of awe 
Behold how Justice swaies the sword of law 


To weed out those, whose hands imbrew'd in bloud 
Cropt off thy youth, and flower in the bud. 

Sleep in thy peace : thus happy hast thou prov'd, 
Thou might'st have di'de more knowne, not more 

Io. Fo. 


HESPERIDES (within whose gardens grow 
Apples of gold) may ivell thy losse deplore : 
For in those gardens they could never show 
A tree so f aire of such afruitfull store. 

Grace was the root, and thou thy selfe the tree, 
Sweet counsels were the berries greio on thee. 

Wit was the branch that did adorne the stocke, 
Reason the leafe upon those branches spred, 
Under thy shadow did the Muses flocke, 
And (by thee) as a mantle covered: 

But what befell, O, too much out of kind .' 
For thou wast blasted by a West-on wind. 

R. Ca. 



WHEN I behold this wife of thine so faire, 
So far remov'd from vulgar beauties (aire 
Being lesse bright and pure) me thinks I see 
An uncloth'd soule, by potent alchymy 
Extraught from ragged matter. Thou hast made 
A wife more innocent than any maide. 
EvaKs state, before the fall, decyphered here, 
And Plato's naked vertue's not more cleare. 
Such an ideea as scarce wishes can 
Arrive at, but our hopes must ne're attaine 
A soule so far beyond the common make 
As scorn'd corporeall joyning. For her sake 
(Despairing else contract) thou too turn'st soule ; 
And to enjoy her faires without controule, 
Cast'st off this bodies clog : so must all do, 
Cast matter off, who would abstractions woo. 
To flie so soone then (soule) wel hast thou done, 
For in this life, such beauties are not wone. 
But when I call to mind thine unripe fall, 
And so sad summons to thy nuptiall, 
Either, in her thy bold desires did taste 
Forbidden fruit, and have this curse purchast, 
Or, having this elixir made thine owne 
(Drawne from the remnant of creation,) 


The faces their malignant spirits breathe 

To punish thine ambitious love with death. 

Or, thy much envide choyce hath made the rest 

Of concrete relicts, point their aymes infest 

To thy confusion. And with them seduc'd 

Friendship (displeas'd to see a love produc'd 

Lesse carnall than it selfe) with policy 

So pure and chaste a love to nullifie. 

Yet howsoe'r, their project flies in smoke, 

The poyson's cordiall, which they meant should choke : 

Their deeds of darknes, like the bridall night, 

Have joyn'd spirituall lovers, in despight 

Of false attempts : And now the wedding's done ; 

When in this life such faires had not bin won. 

E. G. 


THOU wofull widdow, once a happy wife, 
That didst enjoy so sweet a mate : 
Who, noiv bereaved is of life, 
Untimely wrought, through inward hate. 
O deed most vile, to haste the end 
Ofhim^ that was so good a friend! 

F. H. 



LOE here the matchlesse patterne of a wife, 
Disciphered in forme of good, and bad : 
The bad commends the good, as dark doth light, 
Or as a loathed bed a single life ; 
The good, with wisdome and discretion clad, 
With modesty, and faire demeanour dight, 
Whose reason doth her will to love invite. 

Reason begot, and passion bred her love, 
Self-will she shun'd, fitnes the marriage made ; 
Fitnes doth cherish love, selfe-will debate. 
Loe thus, and in this monument of proofe 
A perfect wife, a worke nor time can fade, 

Nor loose respect betray to mortall fate. 

This none can ecmall ; best, but imitate. 

R. C. 


I AM glad yet ere I die, I have found occasion, 
Honest and just, without the worlds perswasion, 
Or flattery, or bribery, to commend 
A woman for her goodnesse ; and God send 


I may find many more : I wish them well ; 
They are pretty things to play with ; when Eve fell 
She tooke a care that all the women-kind 
That were to follow her, should be as blind 
As she was wilfull ; and till this good wife, 
This peece of vertues that ne ! re tooke her life 
From a fraile mothers labour : those stand still 
As marginals to point us to our ill, 
Came to the worlde, as other creatures doe 
That know no God but will ; we learn'd to woo ; 
And if she were but faire, and could but kisse, 
Twenty to one we could not chuse amisse ; 
And as we judge of trees, if straight and tall, 
That may be sound, yet never till the fall 
Find how the raine hath drill'd them ; so till now 
We only knew we must love ; but not how : 
But here we have example, and so rare, 
That if we hold but common sense and care, 
And steere by this card ; he that goes awry, 
He boldly say at his nativity, 
That man was seal'd a foole : yet all this good 
Given as it is, not cloath'd in flesh and blood, 
Some may averre, and strongly, 'twas meere ment 
In way of practice, but not president ; 
Either will make us happy men ; for he 
That marrieth any way this mystery, 
Or any parcell of that benefit, 
Though he take hold of nothing but the wit, 
Hath got himselfe a partner for his life, 
More than a woman, better than a wife. 

I. F. 



AS from a man the first fraile woman came, 
The first tlwt ever made us know our shame, 
And find the curse, of labour ; so againe, 
Goodnesse and understanding found a man 
To take this shame away ; and from him sprung 
A peece of excellence without a tongue, 
Because it should not wrong us ; yet the life 
Makes it appeare, a woman and a wife. 
And this is shee, if ever woman shall 
Doe good hereafter; borne to blesse our fall. 

J. F. 


WERE every beauty, every severall grace, 
Which is in women, in one womans face, 
Som courtly gallants might, I think, come to her, 
Which would not wed her, tho' they seem'd to woo 

Settled affections follow not the eye, 
Reason and judgement must their course descry. 
Pigmalions image, made of marble stone, 
Was lik'd of all, belov'd of him alone : 


But here's a dame growne kusbandlesse of late, 
Which not a man but wisheth were his mate. 
So faire without, so free from spot within, 
That earth seemes here to stand exempt from sin. 
Juno vouchsafe, and Hymen, when I wed, 
I may behold this widdow in my bed. 

D. T. 


BEAUTY affords contentment to the eye, 
Riches are meanes to cure a weake estate, 
Honour illustrates what it commeth nie : 
To marry thus, men count it happy fate. 

Vertue they think doth in these emblemes shroud, 
But triall shewes the' are gulled with a cloud. 

These are but complements : the inward worth, 
The outward carriage, gesture, wit, and grace, 
Is that alone that sets a woman forth : 
And in this woman, these have each a place. 

Were all wives such : this age would happy be, 

But happier that of our posteritie. 

D. T. 



WELL hast thou said, that women should be such 
And were they that, had but a third as much, 
I would be marri'd too, but that I know 
Not what she is, but should be, thou dost show : 
So let me praise thy worke, and let my life 
Be single, or thy widow be my wife. 

X. Z. 


THIS perfect creature, to the easterne use 
Livd, whilst a wife retird from common show . 
Not that her lover fear'd the least abuse, 
But with the ivisest knew it fitter so : 
Since, falne a widow, and a zealous one, 
She would have sacrifzde her selfe agen, 
But importuned to life, is now alone 
Lovd, wod'd, admird, by all icise single men. 
Which, to tK adulterous rest, that dare begin 
Their us'd temptations, were a mortaU sin. 



XPOS'D to all thou wilt lesse worthy seeme, 
I feare : wives common, all men disesteeme, 


Yet some things have a diffring fate : some fret. 
We doubt in wares which are in corners set : 
Hid medals rust, which being us'd grow bright ; 
The day more friendeth vertue then the night. 
Thou though more common, than maist seem more 

I only wish thou maist be understood. 

G. R. 


LOOK here : and chide those spirits which main- 
Their empire, with a strong command in you, 
That all good eyes, which do your follies view, 
Pitty, what you for them must once sustaine : 
O from those evils, which free soules disdaine 
To be acquainted with, and but pursue 
Worst minds from them (as hatefull as untrue.) 
By reading this, for Fames faire sake refraine : 
Who would let feed upon her birth, the brood 
Of lightnesse, indiscretion, and the shame 
Of foule incontinence, when the base blood 
Is carelesse onely of an honour'd name ? 
Be all that gentle are, more high improv'd, 
For loose dames are but flattered, never lotfd. 

W. Stra. 



IF I were to chuse a woman, 
As who knowes but I may marry ? 
I would trust the eye of no man, 
Nor a tongue that may miscarry : 
For in way of love and glory, 
Each tongue best tells his owne story. 

First, to make my choyce the bolder, 

I ivould have her childe to such, 

Whose free vertuous lives are older 

Then antiquity can touch : 
For 'tis seldome seene, that blond 
Gives a beauty great and good. 

Yet an ancient stock may bring 

Branches, I confesse, of worth, 

Like rich mantles shadowing 

Those descents that brought them forth ; 
Yet such hills, though gilded show, 
Soonest feele the age of snow. 

Therefore to prevent such care 
That repentance soone may bring, 
Like marchants, I would choose my ware, 
Use-full good, not glittering. 

He that reeds for state or face, 

Buys a horse, to lose a race. 


Yet I would have her f aire as any, 

But her owne not hist away • 

I would have her free to many, 

Loohe on all like equall day ; 
But descending to the sea, 
Make her set with none but me. 

If she he not tall, 'tis better ; 
For that word, A goodly woman, 
Prints it selfe in such a letter, 
That it leaves unstudied no man : 

I would have my mistris grow 

Onely tall, to answer No. 

Yet I would not have her lose 
So much breeding, as to fling 
Unbecomming scorne on those 
That must worship every thing. 

Let her fear e loose loohes to scatter . 

And loose men willfeare to flatter. 

Children I would have her beare, 
More for love of name than bed : 
So each child I have is heyre 
To another mayden-head ; 
For she that in the acts afraid, 
Every night's another maid. 

Such a one, as ivhen shee's wood, 
Blushes not for ill thoughts past ; 
But so innocently good, 
That her dreams are ever chast; 
For that maid that thinks a sin 
Has betraid the fort shee's in. 

In my visitation still, 
I would have her scatter feares, 
How this man, and that ivas ill, 
After protestations teares : 

And who voices a constant life, 

Croivnes a meritorious icife. 

When the priest first gives our hands, 
I icould have her thiulie but thus; 
In what high and holy hands 
Heaven, like twins, hath planted us, 
That like Aarons rod, together 
Both may bud; grow greene, and wither. 


, r I ''IS dangerous to be good: well may we praise 

A Honesty, or innocence ; but who can raise 
A pow'r, that shall secur't gainst wrongs to come, 
When such a saint hath suffer'd martyrdome ? 
Injurious hands, which 'cause they could not get 
The gemme, would therefore spoile the cabinet. 
But though the cage be broke, the bird is flowne 
To heaven, her proper and securer home : 
Where 'mongst a quire of saints, and cherubins, 
Of angels, thro?ies, and seraphim, she sings 
Those sacred Haleluiahs : heaven may boast 
T' have got that angel there which we have lost : 


But we shall still complaine, for to us here, 
A saint is more losse than a throne is there. 

That firmament of holy^z-es which we 
Enjoy'd, whilst thou wert, by enjoying thee, 
Lyes now rak't up in ashes, as the light 
Of day, the sunne once gon, is drownd in night. 
But as the moone, sometime, the sunne being set, 
Appeares, and we a new (though lesse) light get; 
So though our greatest lampe of vertue be, 
By cruell fate extinguished, in thee, 
Yet to adde some fresh oyle t'our snuffe of life, 
Thou hast behind thee, left a matchlesse wife : 
Who hath (since that sad time her husband di'd) 
Beene woo'd by many, for a second bride : 
But like a chaste religious widow, she 
Having lost her first mate, scornes bigamie. 

P. B. medii Temp. 


VPON a marble fram'd by th' cunningst hand, 
In garments greene, and orient to behold, 
Like a most lovely virgiti let her stand, 
And on her head a crowne of purest gold. 
First, let religion in her heart have place, (spring, 
As th' ground and fountaine whence all vertues 
So that each thought being sanctified by grace : 
The punishment t' escape, that's due to sinne. 


Let beauty (joyn'd with modesty) appeare 

Loves object in her face ; and chastity 

In her faire eyes, brighter than cbrystall cleare, 

Wherein life moves, affections led thereby. 

In her hands charity, and at the right 

The holy angels let protecting be : 

And at the left Gods mercies shining bright, 

Distributing to each necessity. 

Let th' earth his riches yeeld to her, and more 

The heavens their influence, and by the same 

Unto the blind their sight let her restore ; 

Strengthning the weak, and raising up the lame. 

Under her feet the devill and darknesse set, 

Let pride fast bound in chaines behind her lye, 

Base self-love, not appeare in place, and let 

Foule-lust, and envy from her presence flie. 

And on her brest, in golden letters write — 

Heavens best belov'd, earths chiefest delight. 

Hee that (in's choice) would meet with such a wife, 
Must vow virginity, and single life. 



LL right, all ivrong befcds me through a wife, 
A bad one gave me death, a good one life. 



Poysoned in the Tower. 

ADST thoxi like other sirs and knights of worth, 
Sickned and dide, bin stretcht-out, and laid-forth, 
After thy farewell sermon, taken earth, 
Awl left no deed to praise thee, hid thy birth, 
Then Overbury, by a passe of theirs, 
Thou mighCst have tyded hence in two houres teares, 
Then had we worne the sprigs of memory 
No longer than thy friends did rosemary ; 
Or than the doale was eating for thy sake, 
And thou hadst sunke in thine owne wine and cake : 
But since it was so ordered and thought ft 
By some icho kneio thy truth, and fear d thy toit, 
Thou shoiddst be poison d ; death hath done thee grace, 
Ranckt thee above the region of thy place, 
For none heares poyson namd, but makes reply 
What prince ivas that ? what states-man so did die f 
In this thou hast oid-dyde an elegy, 
Which were too narrow for posterity, 
And thy strong poyson which did seeme to kill, 
Working afresh in some historians quill, 
Shall now preserve thee longer ere thou rot, 
Than could a poem mixt ivith antidot ; 
Nor neecTst thou trust a herauld with thy name, 
That art the voyce of justice and of fame ; 


Whilst sinne (detesting her owne conscience) strives 
To pay the use and interest of lives. 
Enough of ryme, and might it please the law, 
Enough of bloud ; for naming lives I saw, 
He that writes more of thee, must write of more, 
Which I affect not, but referre men ore 
To Tyburne, by ivhose art they may define 
What life of man is worth in valewing thine. 



HOUGH dumb, deaf, dead, I cry, I heare, I kill 
Thus growne a politician 'gainst my will. 

J. M. 



First, of Mariage, and the effect thereof ; Children. Then of 
his contrary, Lust; then for his choyce, first, his opinion nega- 
tively, what should not be : the First, causes in it, that is, neither 
Beauty, Birth, nor Portion. Then affirmative, what should 
be, of which kind there are foure : Goodnesse, Knowledge, 
Discretion, and as a second thing, Beauty. The first 07ily is 
absolutely good : the other being built upon the first, doe likewise 
become so. Then the application of that woman by love to him- 
selfe, which makes her a Wife. And lastly, the only condition 
of a Wife, Fitnesse, 


ACH woman is a brief e of womankind, 

And doth in little even as much containe, 

As, in one dayand night, all, 

Of either, more, is but the same againe : 

God fiam'd her so, that to her husband she, 

As Eve, should all the world of woman be. 

So fram'd he both, that neither power he gave 
Use of themselves, but by exchange to make : 
"Whence in their face, the/a*Ve no pleasure have, 
13 ut by reflex of what thence other take. 

Our lips in their owne kisse no pleasure finde : 
Toward their proper face, our eies are blinde. 


34 A WIFE. 

So God in Eve did perfect man, begun ; 

Till then, in vaine much of himselfe he had : 

In Adam, God created only one, 

Eve, and the world to come, in Eve he made. 

We are two hdlfes : whiles each from other straies, 
Both barren are ; joind, both their like can raise. 

At first, hoth sexes were in man comhinde, 
Man a she-man did in his body breed ; 
Adam was Eves, Eve mother of mankinde, 
Eve fi'om live-flesh, man did from dust proceed. 
One, thus made two, mariage doth re-unite, 
And makes them both but one hermaphrodite. 

Man did but the well-being of this life 

From woman take ; her being she from man : 

And therefore Eve created was a wife, 

And at the end of all her sex, began : 

Mariage their object is ; their being then, 
And now perfection, they receive from men, 

Mariage ; to all whose joyes two parties be, 
And doubled are by being parted so, 
Wherein the very act is chastity, 
Whereby two soides into one body go. 

Which makes two, one ; while here they living be, 

And after death in their posterity. 

A WIFE. 35 

God to each man a private woman gave, 
That in that center his desires might stint, 
That he a comfort like himselfe might have, 
And that on her his like he might imprint. 
Double is womans use, part of their end 
Doth on this age, part on the next depend. 

We fill but part of time, and cannot dye, 

Till we the world afresh supply have lent. 

Children are bodies sole eternity ; 

Nature is Gods, art is mans instrument. 

Now all mans art but only dead things makes, 
But herein man in things of life partakes. 

For wandring lust; I know 'tis infinite, 
It still begins, and addes not more to more : 
The guilt is everlasting, the delight, 
This instant doth not feele, of that before. 

The taste of it is only in the seme, 

The operation in the conscience. 

Woman is not lusts bounds, but ivoman-Jcinde ; 
One is loves number: who from that doth fall, 
Hath lost his hold, and no new rest shall find ; 
Vice hath no meane, but not to be at all. 

A wife is that enough ; lust cannot find ; 

For lust is still with ivant, or too much, pind. 

36 A WIFE. 

Bate lust the sin, my share is ev'n with his, 
For, not to lust, and to enjoy, is one : 
And more or lesse past, eqicall nothing is ; 
I still have one, lust one at once, alone : 

And though the woman often changed be, 

Yet he's the same without variety. 

Mariage our lust (as 'twere with fuell fire) 
Doth, with a medicine of the same, allay, 
And not forbid, but rectifie desire. 
My selfe I cannot chuse, my wife I may : 

And in the choise of her, it much doth lye, 

To mend my selfe in my posterity. 

Or rather let me love, then be in love ; 
So let me chuse, as wife and friend to find, 
Let me forget her sex, when I approve : 
Beasts likenesse lies in shape, but ours in mind : 
Our soules no sexes have, their love is cleane, 
No sex, both in the better part are men. 

But physicke for our lust their bodies be, 

But matter fit to shew our love upon : 

But onely shells for our posterity, 

Their soules were giv'n lest men should be alone : 
For, but the soules interpreters, words be, 
Without which, bodies are no company. 

A WIFE. 37 

That good! )j frame we see of flesh and blood, 
Their fashion is, not weight ; it is I say 
But their Jay-part ; but well digested food ; 
Tis but 'twixt dust, and dust, Jifes middle way : 
The worth of it is nothing that is seen, 
But only that it holds a soule within. 

And all the carnall beauty of my wife, 
Is but skin-deep, but to two senses known ; 
Short even of pictures, shorter liv'd then life, 
And yet the love survives, that's built thereon : 
For our imagination is too high, 
For bodies when they meet, to satisfie. 

All shapes, all colours, are alike in night, 
Nor doth our touch distinguish foule or f aire ; 
But mans imagination, and his sight, 
And those, but the first weeke ; by custome are 
Both made alike, which differed at first view, 
Nor can that difference absence much renew. 

Nor can that beauty, lying in the face, 

But meerely by imagination be 

Enjoy'd by us, in an inferiour place. 

Nor can that beauty by enjoying we 

Make ours become ; so our desire growes tame, 
We changed are, but it remaines the same. 

38 A WIFE. 

Birth, lesse then beauty, shall niy reason blinde, 
Her birth goes to my children, not to me : 
Rather had I that active gentry finde, 
Vertue, then passive from her ancestry ; 
Rather in her alive one vertue see, 
Then all the rest dead in her pedigree. 

In the degrees, high rather, be she plac't, 

Of nature, then of art, and policy : 

Gentry is but a relique of time past : 

And love doth only hut the p>resent see ; [same 

Things were first made, then ivords : she were the 
With, or without, that title or that name. 

As for (the oddes of sexes) portion, 
Nor will I shun it, nor my aime it make ; 
Birth, beauty, wealth, are nothing worth alone, 
All these I would for good additions take, 

Not for good 2>arts, those two are ill comhin'd. 
Whom, any third thing from themselves hath join'd. 

Rather then these the object of my love, 
Let it be good ; when these with vertue go, 
They (in themselves indifferent) vertucs prove, 
For good (like fire) turues all things to be so. 
Gods image in her soule, O let me place 
My love upon ! not Adams in her face. 

A WIFE. 39 

Good, is a fairer attribute then white, 
"lis the minds beauty keeps the other sweete ; 
That's not still one, nor mortall with the light, 
Nor glasse, nor painting can it counterfeit ; 
Nor doth it raise desires, which ever tend 
At once, to their perfection and their end. 

By good I would have hohj understood, 
So God she cannot love, but also me, 
The law requires our words and deeds be good, 
Religion even the thoughts doth sanctifie: 
As she is more a maid that ravisht is, 
Then she which only doth but wish amisse. 

Lust onely by religion is withstood, 

Lusts object is alive, his strength within ; 

Morality resists but in cold blood; 

Respect of credit feareth shame, not sin. 
But no place darJce enough for such offence 
She fhides, that's watch' t, by her own conscience. 

Then may I trust her body with her mind, 
And, thereupon secure, need never know 
The pangs ofjealousie: and love doth find 
More paine to doubt her false, then know her so : 
For patience is, of evils that are knowne, 
The certaine reraedie ; but doubt hath none. 

40 A WIFE. 

And be that thought once stirr'd, 'twill never die : 
Nor will the griefe more mild by custome prove, 
Nor yet amendment can it satisfie, 
The anguish more or lesse, is as our love ; 

This misery doth jealousie ensue, 

That we may prove her false, but cannot true. 

Suspicious may the will of lust restraine, 
But good prevents from having such a will ; 
A wife that's good, doth chaste and more containe, 
For chaste is but an abstinence from ill : 
And in a wife that's bad, although the best 
Of qualities ; yet in a good the least. 

To barre the meanes is care, not jealousie : 
Some laivfull things to be avoyded are, 
When they occasion of unlaufull be : 
Lust ere it hurts, is best descry'd afarre : 
Lust is a sinne of two ; he that is sure 
Of either part, may be of both secure. 

Give me next good, an understanding wife, 
By nature wise, not learned by much art, 
Some knowledge on her side, will all my life 
More scope of conversation impart : 

Besides, her inborne vertue fortifie. 

They are most firmly good, that best know why. 

A WIFE. 41 

A. passive understanding to conceive, 

And judgement to discerne, I wish to finde: 

Beyond that, all as hazardous I leave ; 

Learning and pregnant ivit in woman-kinde, 
What it findes malleable, makes fraile, 
And doth not adde more ballast, but more saile. 

Domesticke charge doth best that sex befit, 
Contiguous businesse ; so to fixe the mind, 
That leisure space for fancies not admit : 
Their ley sure 'tis corrupteth woman-Mnd : 
Else, being plac'd from many vices free, 
They had to heav'n a shorter cut then we. 

Boohes are a part of mans prerogative, 
In formall hike they thoughts and voyces hold, 
That we to them our solitude may give, 
And make time-present travell that of old. 
Our life, fame peeceth longer at the end, 
And bookes it farther backward doe extend. 

As good, and knowing, let her be discreete, 
That, to the others weight, doth fashion bring ; 
Discretion doth consider what is^, 
Goodnesse but what is lawfull ; but the thing, 
Not circumstances ; learning is and ivit, 
In men, but curious folly without it. 

42 A WIFE. 

To keepe their name, when 'tis in others hands, 
Discretion askes ; their credit is by farre 
More fraile than they : on likelihoods it stands, 
And hard to be disprov'd, lusts slanders are. 
Their carriage, not their chastity alone, 
Must keepe their name chaste from suspition. 

Woraans behaviour is a surer barre 
Then is their no : that fairely doth deny 
Without denying ; thereby kept they are 
Safe ev'n from hope ; in part to blame is she, 

Which hath without consent bin only tride ; 

He comes too neere, that comes to be denide. 

Now since a woman we to marry are, 

A soide and body, not a soide alone, 

When one is good, then be the o\\\qx faire ; 

Beauty is health and beauty, both in one ; 

Be she so faire, as change can yeeld no gaine 
So faire, as she most woman else containe. 

So faire at least let me imagine her ; 

That thought to me, is truth : opinion 

Cannot in matter of opinion erre ; 

With no eyes shall I see her but mine owne. 
And as my fancy her conceives to be, 
Even such my senses both, doe feele and see. 

A WIFE. 43 

The face we may the seat of beauty call, 

In it the relish of the rest doth lye, 

Nay ev'n a figure of the mind withall : 

And of the face, the life moves in the eye ; 
No things else, being two, so like we see, 
So like, that they, two but in number, be. 

Beauty in decent shape, and colours lies. 
Colours the matter are, and shape the soide ; 
The so ule, which from no single part doth rise, 
But from the just proportion of the whole, 

And is a meere spirituall harmony, 

Of every part united in the eye. 

Love is a kind of superstition, 
Which feares the idol! which it self hath fram'd : 
Lust a desire, which rather from his oivne 
Temper, then from the object is inflam'd : 

Beauty is loves object ; woman lust's to gaine 
Love, love desires ; lust onely to obtaine. 

No circumstance doth beauty beautifie, 

Like gracefull fashion, native comelinesse. 

Nay ev'n gets pardon for deformity ; 

Art cannot ought beget, but may increase ; 
When nature had fixt beauty, perfect made, 
Something she left for motion to adde. 

44 A WIFE. 

But let that fashion more to modesty 
Tend, then assurance : modesty doth set 
The face in her just place, from passions free, 
'Tis both the mindes, and bodies beauty met ; 

But modesty no vertue can we see ; 

That is the faces onely chastity. 

Where goodnesse failes, 'twixt ill and ill that stands 
Whence 'tis, that tvomen though they weaker be, 
And their desire more strong, yet on their hands 
The chastity of men doth often lye : 

Lust would more common be then any one, 
Could it, as other sins, be done alone. 

All these good parts & perfect woman make: 
Adde love to me, they make a perfect wife : 
Without her love, her beauty should I take, 
As that of pictures ; dead ; that gives it life : 
Till then her beauty like the sun doth shine 
Alike to all ; that makes it, only mine. 

And of that love, let reason father be, 
And passion mother ; let it from the one 
His being take, the other his degree ; 
Selfe-love (which second loves are built upon) 

Will make me (if not her) her love respect ; 

No man but favours his owne worths effect. 

A WIFE. 4o 

As good and ivise ; so be she Jit for me, 
That is, to tvill, and not to will, the same : 
My wife is my adopted selfe, and she 
As me, so what I love, to love must name : 
For when by mariage both in one concurre, 
Woman converts to man, not man to her. 




THE span of my dates measured, here I rest, 
Tliat is, my body ; but my soide, Ms guest, 
Is hence ascended : whither, neither time, 
Nor faith, nor hope, but only love can clime; 
Where being now enlightned, she doth know 
The truth of all men argue of below : 

Onely this dust doth here in paivne remaine, 
That, when the world dissolves, she come again. 



A Good Woman. 

GOOD woman is a comfort, like a 
man. She lacks of him nothing but 
heat. Thence is her sweetnesse of 
disposition, which meets his stoutnesse 
more pleasingly ; so wooll meets iron easier than 
iron ; and turnes resisting into embracing. Her 
greatest learning is religion, and her thoughts are 
on her owne sex, or on men, without casting the 
difference. Dishonesty never comes neerer than her 
eares, and then wonder stops it out, and saves vertue 
the labour. She leaves the neat youth, telling his 
lushious tales, and puts back the serving-mans put- 
ting forward, with a frown : yet her kindnes is free 
enough to be seen, for it hath no guilt about it : and 
her mirth is cleare, that you may looke through it, 


into vertue, but not beyond. Sbe bath not behaviour 
at a certaine, but makes it to her occasion. Shee 
hath so much knowledge as to love it ; and if she 
have it not at home, she will fetch it, for this some- 
times in a pleasant discontent she dares chide her 
sex, though she use it never the worse. She is much 
within, and frames outward tilings to her mind, not 
her mind to them. Shee weares good clothes, but 
never better ; for shee finds no degree beyond de- 
cencie. Shee hath a content of her owne, and so 
seekes not an husband, but finds him. She is indeed 
most, but not much of description, for she is direct 
and one, and hath not the variety of ill. Now she 
is given fresh and alive to a husband, and she doth 
nothing more than love him, for she takes him to 
that purpose. So his good becomes the businesse of 
her actions, and she doth her selfe kindnesse upon 
him. After his, her chiefest vertue is a good hus- 
band. For shee is hee. 

A Very Woman. 

VERY woman, is a dow-bakt man, or 
a she meant well towards man, but fell 
two bowes short, strength and under- 
standing. Her vertue is the hedge, modesty, that 
keepes a man from climbing over into her faults. 


Shee simpers as if shee had no teeth but lips : and 
she divides her eyes, and keepes halfe for her selfe, 
and gives the other to her neat youth. Being set 
downe, she casts her face into a platforme, which 
dureth the meale, and is taken away with the voider. 
Her draught reacheth to good manners, not to thirst, 
and it is a part of their mystery not to professe hunger; 
but Nature takes her in private, and stretcheth her 
upon meat. She is marriageable and foureteene at 
once ; and after she doth not live, but tarry. She 
reads over her face every morning, and sometimes 
blots out pale, and writes red. She thinks she is faire, 
though many times her opinion goes alone, and she 
loves her glasse, and the Knight of the Sun for lying. 
Shee is hid away all but her face, and that's hang'd 
about with toyes and devices, like the signe of a 
taverne, to thaw strangers. If shee shew more, 
she prevents desire, and by too free giving, leaves 
no gift. Shee may escape from the serving-man, 
but not from the chamber-maid. She commits with 
her eares for certaine : after that she may goe for a 
maid, but she hath beene lyen with in her under- 
standing. Her philosophy, is a seeming neglect of 
those, that bee too good for her. She's a younger 
brother for her portion, but not for her portion for 
wit, that comes from her in a treble, which is still 
too big for it ; yet her vanity seldome matcheth her, 
with one of her own degree, for then shee will beget 



another creature a begger ; and commonly, if shee 
marry better she marries worse. She gets much by 
the simplicity of her sutor, and for a jest, laughs at 
him without one. Thus she dresses a husband for 
her selfe, and after takes him for his patience, and 
the land adjoyning, ye may see it ; in a serving-mans 
fresh napery, and his leg steps into an unknowne 
stocking. I need not speake of his garters, the tassell 
shewes it selfe. If she love, she loves not the man, 
but the beast of him. She is Salomons cruell creature, 
and a mans walking consumption : every caudle 
shee gives him, is a purge. Her chiefe commenda- 
tion is, she brings a man to repentance. 

Her Next Part. 

ER lightnesse gets her to swim at top of 
y^\ g the table, where her wrie little finger 
p bewraies carving ; her neighbors at the 
latter end know they are welcome, and for that pur- 
pose she quencheth her thirst. She travels to and 
among, and so becomes a woman of good entertain- 
ment, for all the folly in the country comes in cleane 
linnen to visit her : she breaks to them her griefe in 
suger cakes, and receives from their mouths in ex- 
change, many stories that conclude to no purpose. 
Her eldest son is like her howsoever, and that dis- 


praiseth him best : her utmost drift is to turne him 
foole, which commonly she obtaines at the yeares of 
discretion. She takes a journey sometimes to her 
neeces house, but never thinkes beyond London. 
Her devotion is good clothes, they carry her to 
church, expresse their stuft'e and fashion, and are 
silent ; if shee bee more devout, shee lifts up a certain 
number of eyes, in stead of prayers, and takes the 
sermon, and measures out a nap by it, just as long. 
She sends religion afore to sixty, where she never 
overtakes it, or drives it before her againe : her most 
necessary instruments are a waiting gentle-woman, 
and a chamber-maid ; she weares her gentle-woman 
still, but most often leaves the other in her chamber 
window. She hath a little kennel in her lap, and 
she smels the sweeter for it. The utmost reach of 
her providence, is the fatnesse of a capon, and her 
greatest envy, is the next gentlewomans better 
gown. Her most commendable skill, is to make 
her husbands fustian beare her velvet. This she 
doth many times over, and then is delivered to old 
age, and a chaire, where every body leaves her. 


A Dissembler 

'S an essence needing a double definition, 
for he is not that he appeares. Unto 
the eye he is pleasing, unto the eare not 
harsh, but unto the understanding intricate, and full 
of windings : he is the prima materia, and his in- 
tents give him forme : he dyeth his meanes and his 
meaning into two colors, he baits craft with humility, 
and his countenance is the picture of the present 
disposition. He wins not by battery, but undermin- 
ing, and his racke is smoothing. He allures, is 
not aUur'd by bis affections, for they are the brokers 
of his observation. He knowes passion only by 
sufferance, and resisteth by obeying. He makes 
his time an accomptant to his memory, and of the hu- 
mours of men weaves a net for occasion : the inqui- 
sitor must looke tborow his judgement, for to the eye 
only he is not visible. 

A Courtier 


^rnO all mens thinking is a man, and to 
tog^[ most men. the finest : all things else are 
iy-^vp defined by the understanding, but this 
by the senses ; but his surest marke is, that he is to 


be found only about princes. He smels ; and putteth 
away much of his judgement about the situation of 
his clothes. Hee knowes no man that is not gene- 
rally knowne. His wit, like the marigold, openeth 
with the sun, and therfore he riseth not before ten 
of the clock. He puts more confidence in his words 
than meaning, and more in his pronunciation than 
his words. Occasion is his Ciqnd, and he hath but 
one receit of making love. He followes nothing 
but inconstancie, admires nothing but beauty, honors 
nothing but fortune. Loves nothing. The suste- 
nance of his discourse is newes, and his censure like 
a shot depends upon the charging. He is not, if he 
be out of court, but fish-like breaths destruction, if 
out of his owne element. Neither his motion, or 
aspect are regular, but he mooves by the upper 
spheares, and is the reflection of higher substances. 
If you find him not here, you shall in Pauls, with 
a picke tooth in his hat, a capecloak, and a long 

A Golden Asse 

S a young thing, whose father went to 
the divell ; he is followed like a salt 
bitch, and lirnb'd by him that gets up 
first ; his disposition is cut, and knaves rent him like 
tenter-hooks ; hee is as blind as his mother, and 


swallowers flatterers for friends. He is high in his 
owne imagination, hut that imagination is as a stone, 
that is raised by violence, descends naturally. "When 
hee goes, hee looks who looks : if hee finds not good 
store of vailers, he comes home stiffe and seer, untill 
he be new oyled and watered by his husbandmen. 
Wheresoever he eates he hath an officer, to warne 
men not to talke out of his element, and his own is 
exceeding sensible, because it is sensuall ; but he 
cannot exchange a peece of reason, though he can a 
peece of gold. Hee is naught pluckt, for his feathers 
are his beauty, and more then his beauty ; they are 
his discretion, his countenance, his all. He is now 
at an end, for he hath had the wolf of vaine-glory, 
which he fed, untill himselfe became the food. 

A Flatterer 

; S the shadow of a foole. He is a good 
wood-man, for he singleth out none but 
the wealthy. His carriage is ever of 
the colour of his patient ; and for his sake hee will 
halt or weare a wrie necke. Hee dispraiseth nothing 
but poverty, and small drink, and praiseth his grace 
of making water. He selleth himselfe, with reckon- 
ing his great friends, and teacheth the present, how 
to win his praises by reciting the other gifts : he is 


ready for all imployments, but especially before 
dinner, for bis courage and his stomack goe together. 
Hee will play any upon his countenance, and where 
he cannot he admitted for a counsellor, he will serve 
as a foole. He frequents the court of wards and 
ordinaries, and fits these guests of toga? virilis, with 
wives or whores. He entreth young men into ac- 
quaintance and debt-books. In a word, hee is the 
impression of the last term, and will bee so, untill the 
comming of a new term or termer. 

An ignorant Glory-hunter 

S an insectum animal ; for he is the mag- 
got of opinion, his behaviour is another 
thing from himselfe, and is glewed, and 
but set on. He entertaines men with repetitions, 
and returnes them their own words. He is ignorant 
of nothing, no not of those things, where ignorance 
is the lesser shame. Hee gets the names of good 
wits, and utters them for his companions. He con- 
fesseth vices that he is guiltlesse of, if they be in 
fashion ; and dares not salute a man in old clothes, 
or out of fashion. There is not a publike assembly 
without him, and he will take any paines for an ac- 
quaintance there. In any shew he will be one, 
though he be but a whiffler, or a torch-bearer ; and 


beares downe strangers with the story of his actions. 
He handles nothing that is not rare, and defends his 
wardrobe, diet, and all customes, with entitiding 
their beginnings from princes, great sonldiers, and 
strange nations. He dares speake more then he 
understands, and adventures his words without the 
releefe of any seconds. He relates battels, and 
skirmishes, as from an eye-witnesse, when his eyes 
theevishly beguiled a ballad of them. In a word, to 
make sure of admiration, he will not let himselfe 
understand himselfe, but hopes fame and opinion 
will be the readers of his riddles. 

A Timist 

; S a noune adjective of the present tense. 
He hath no more of a conscience then 
feare, and his religion is not his but the 
princes. He reverenceth a courtiers servants ser- 
vant. Is first his own slave, and then whosoever 
looketh big ; when he gives hee curseth, and when 
hee sels he worships. He reads the statutes in his 
chamber, and weares the Bible in the streetea : he 
never praiseth any but before themselves or friends : 
and mislikes no great man's actions during his life. 
His new-yeares gifts are ready at Alhalomas, and 
the sute hee meant to meditate before them. He 


pleaseth the children of great men, ami promiseth to 
adopt them; anil his eourtesie extends it selfe even 
to the stahle. lie straines to talke wisely, and his 
modesty would serve a bride. He is gravity froni 
the head to the foot ; but not from the head to the 
heart : you may find what place he affecteth, for he 
creeps as neere it as may be, and as passionately 
courts it ; if at any time his hopes are affected, he 
swelleth with them ; and they burst out too good for 
the vessell. In a word, he danceth to the tune of 
fortune, and studies for notliing but to keepe time. 

An Amorist 

S a man blasted or planet-strooken, and 
is the dogge that leads blind Cupid; 
when he is at the best, his fashion ex- 
ceeds the worth of his weight. He is never without 
verses and musk comfects, and sighs to the hazzard 
of his buttons ; his eyes are all white, either to weare 
the livery of his mistris complexion, or to keep 
Cupid from hitting the blacke. He fights with pas- 
sion, and loseth much of his blond by his weapon ; 
dreanies, thence his palenesse. His armes are care- 
lesly used, as if their best use was nothing but 
embracements. He is untrust, unbutton'd and un- 
gartered, not out of carelesnesse, but care ; his far- 


thest end being but going to bed. Some times be 
wraps bis petition in neatnesse, but be goetb not 
alone ; for tben be makes some other quality mora- 
lize his affection, and his trimnesse is the grace of 
that grace. Her favour lifts him up, as the sun 
moisture ; when she disfavours, unable to hold that 
happinesse, it falles downe in teares ; his fingers are 
his orators, and hee expresseth much of himselfe upon 
some instrument. He answers not, or not to the 
purpose; and no marvell, for he is not at home. Hee 
scotcheth time with dancing with bis mistris, taking 
up of her glove, and wearing her feather ; he is 
confin'd to her colour, and dares not passe out of the 
circuit of her memory. His imagination is a foole, 
and it goeth in a pyde-coat of red and white : shortly, 
he is translated out of a man into folly ; bis imagina- 
tion is the glasse of lust, and himselfe the traitor to 
his owne discretion. 

An Affectate Traveller 

?S a speaking fashion; bee hath taken 
paines to be ridiculous, and hath seen 
more then he hath perceived. His attire 
speakes French or Italian, and his gate cries, Behold 
me. He censures all things by countenances, and 
shrugs, and speakes his own language with shame 
and lisping : he will choake, rather than confesse 
beere good drinke ; and his pick-tooth is a maiuo 


part of his behaviour. lie chuseth rather to be 
counted aspie, then not a politician : and maintaines 
his reputation by naming great men familiarly. 
Hee chuseth rather to tell lies, then not wonders, 
and talkes with men singly : his discourse sounds 
big, but meanes nothing: and his boy is bound to 
admire him howsoever. He comes still from great 
personages, but goes with mean. Hee takes occa- 
sion to shew jewels given him in regard of his ver- 
tue, that were bought in S. Martines : and not long 
after having with a mountbanks method, pronounced 
them worth thousands, impawneth them for a few 
shillings. Upon festivall dayes he goes to court, and 
salutes without resaluting : at night in an ordinary 
he canvasseth the businesse in hand, and seems as 
conversant with all intents and plots as if hee begot 
them. His extraordinary account of men is, first to 
tell them the ends of all matters of consequence, and 
then to borrow money of them ; he offereth courtesies, 
to shew them, rather then himselfe, humble. He 
disdaines all things above his reach, and preferreth 
all countries before his owne. He imputeth his 
want and poverty to the ignorance of the time, not 
his owne unworthinesse : and concludes his discourse 
with halfe a period, or a word, and leaves the rest 
to imagination. In a word, his religion is fashion, 
and both body and soule are governed by fame : he 
loves most voyces above truth. 


A Wise man 

S the truth of the true definition of man, 
that is, a reasonable creature. His dis- 
position alters, he alters not. He hides 
himselfe with the attire of the vulgar ; and in indif- 
ferent things is content to be governed by them. 
He lookes according to nature, so goes his behaviour. 
His mind enjoyes a continuall smoothnesse ; so 
commeth it, that his consideration is alwaies at home. 
He endures the faults of all men silently, except his 
friends, and to them hee is the mirrour of their 
actions ; by this meanes, his peace commeth not 
from fortune, but himselfe. He is cunning in men, 
not to surprize, but keep his own, and beates off their 
ill affected humours, no otherwise than if they were 
flyes. He chuseth not friends by the subsidy-book, 
and is not luxurious after acquaintance. He main- 
taines the strength of his body, not by delicates, but 
temperance : and his mind, by giving itpreheminence 
over his body. He understands tilings, not by their 
forme, but qualities ; and his comparisons intend not 
to excuse but to provoke him higher. Hee is not 
subject to casualties ; for fortune hath nothing to 
doe with the mind, except those drowned in the body : 
but he hath divided his soide froni the case of his 
soide, whose weaknes he assists no otherwise then 



commiseratively, not that it is his, but that it is. He 
is thus, and will bee thus : and lives subject neither 
to time nor his frailties, the servant of vertue, and 
by vertue, the friend of the highest. 

A Noble Spirit 

) ATI! surveied and fortified his disposition, 
p and converts all occurrents into experi- 
, p ence, between which experience and his 
reason, there is mariage ; the issue are his actions. 
He circuits his intents, and seeth the end before he 
shoot. Men are the instruments of his art, and there 
is no man without his use : occasion incites him, 
none enticeth him : and he mooves by affection, not 
for affection ; he loves glory, scornes shame, and 
governeth and obeyeth with one countenance ; for it 
comes from one consideration. He cals not the 
variety of the world chances, for his meditation hath 
travelled over them ; and his e} r e mounted upon his 
understanding, seeth them as things underneath. He 
covers not his body with delicacies, nor excuseth 
these delicacies by his body, but teacheth it, since it 
is not able to defend its own imbecility, to shew or 
suffer. He licenceth not his weaknesse, to weare 
fate, but knowing reason to be no idle gift of nature, 
he is the steeresman of his owne destiny. Truth 


is the goddesse, and he takes paines to get her, not 
to looke like her. Hee knowes the condition of the 
world, that he must act one thing like another, and 
then another. To these he carries his desires, and 
not his desires him, and stickes not fast by the way 
(for that contentment is repentance) but knowing 
the circle of all courses, of all intents, of all things, 
to have but one center or period, without all distrac- 
tion, he hasteth thither and ends there, as his true 
and natural! element. He doth not comtemne for- 
tune, but not confesse her. He is no gamester of 
the world (which onely complaine and praise her) 
but being only sensible of the honesty of actions, 
contemnes a particular profit as the excrement or 
scum. Unto the society of men he is a sun, whose 
clearenesse directs then- steps in a regular motion : 
when he is more particular, he is the wise mans 
friend, the example of the indifferent, the medicine 
of the vicious. Thus time goeth not from him, but 
with him : and he feeles age more by the strength 
of his soule, then the weaknes of his body ; thus 
feeles he no paine, but esteemes all such things as 
friends, that desire to file off his fetters, and helpe 
him out of prison. 


An Okie man 

S a thing that hath been a man in his 
dales. Old men are to be known blind- 
1121' folded : for their talke is as terrible as 
their resemblance. They praise their own times as 
vehemently, as if they would sell them. They be- 
come wrinckled with frowning and facing youth ; they 
admire their old customes, even to the eating of red 
herring, and going wetshod. They call the thumbe 
under the girdle, gravitie ; and because they can 
hardly smell at all, their posies are under their gir- 
dles. They count it an ornament of speech, to close 
the period with a cough ; and it is venerable (they 
say) to spend time in wiping their driveled beards. 
Their discourse is unanswerable, by reason of their 
obstinacy : their speech is much, though little to the 
purpose. Truths and lyes passe with an equall af- 
firmation : for their memories severall is wonne into 
one receptacle, and so they come out with one sense. 
They teach their servants their duties with as much 
scorne and tyranny, as some people teach their dogs 
to fetch. Their envy is one of their diseases. They 
put off and on their clothes, with that certainty, as 
if they knew their heads would not direct them, and 
therefore custome should. They take a pride in 
halting and going stiffely, and therefore their staves 


are carved and tipped : they trust their attire with 
much of their gravity ; and they dare not goe without 
a gowne in summer. Their hats are brushed, to draw 
mens eyes off from their faces ; but of all, their pom- 
anders are worne to most purpose, for their putrified 
breath ought not to want either a smell to defend, 
or a dog to excuse. 

A Country Gentleman 

[S a thing, out of whose corruption the 
generation of a justice of peace is pro- 
duced. He speakes statutes and hus- 
bandry well enough, to make his neighbors thinke 
him a wise man ; he is well skilled in arithmetic],- or 
rates : and hath eloquence enough to save his two- 
pence. His conversation amongst his tenants is des- 
perate ; but amongst his equals full of doubt. His 
travell is seldome farther then the next market towne, 
and his inquisition is about the price of corne : when 
he travelleth, he will goe ten mile out of the way to a 
cousins house of his to save charges ; and rewards the 
servants by taking them by the hand when bee de- 
parts. Nothing under a subpoena can draw him to 
London : and when he is there, he sticks fast upon 
every object, casts his eyes away upon gazing, and 
becomes the prey of every cutpurse. AMien he comes 
home, those wonders serve him for his holy-day 


talke. If he goe to Court, it is in yellow stockings ; 
and if it be in winter, in a slight tafetj eloake, and 
pumps and pantofles. He is chained that wooes the 
usher for his comming into the presence, where he 
becomes troublesome with the ill managing of his 
rapier, and the wearing of his girdle of one fashion, 
and the hangers of another. By this time he hath 
learned to kisse his hand, and make a legge both 
together, and the names of Lords and Councellors ; 
hee hath thus much toward entertainment and 
courtesie, but of the last he makes more use ; for by 
the recital] of my Lord, he conjures his poore countri- 
men. But this is not his element, he must home 
againe, being like a Dor, that ends Ins flight in a 

A fine Gentleman 

S the Oynamon tree, whose bark is more 
worth then his body. He hath read the 
Booke of good manners, and by tins time 
each of his limbs may read it. He alloweth of no 
judge, but the eye ; painting, boulstering, and bom- 
basting are his orators : by these also he proves his 
industry : for hee hath purchased legs, haire, beauty, 
and straightnesse, more than nature left him. He 
unlockes maiden-heads with his language, and speaks 
Euph ues, not so gracefully as heartily. His discourse 



makes not his behaviour, but hee buyes it at Court, 
as countreymen their clothes in Birchin-lane. He is 
somewhat like the Salamander, and lives in the 
flame of love, which paines he expresseth comically : 
and nothing grieves him so much, as the want of a 
poet to make an issue in his love ; yet he sighes 
sweetly, and speakes lamentably : for his breath is 
perfumed, and his words are wind. He is best in 
season at Christmas ; for the boares head and reveller 
come together ; his hopes are laden in his quality : 
and lest fidlers should take him unprovided, hee 
weares pumps in his pocket : and lest he should take 
fidlers unprovided, he whistles his owne galliard. He 
is a calender of ten yeares, and mariage rusts him. 
Afterwards he maintaines himselfe an implement of 
houshold, by carving and ushering. For all this, 
he is judiciall only in taylors and barbers, but his 
opinion is ever ready, and ever idle. If you will 
know more of his acts, the brokers shop is the wit- 
nesse of his valour, where lyes wounded, dead, rent, 
and out of fashion, many a spruce sute, overtlnown 
by his fantasticknesse. 


An Elder Brother 

; S a creature borne to the best advantage 
of things without him ; that hath the 
start at the beginning, but loiters it 
away before the ending. He lookes like his land, as 
heavily and durtily, as stubbornly. He dares do any 
thing but fight ; and feares nothing but his fathers 
life, and minority. The first thing he makes known, 
is his estate ; and the load-stone that drawes him is 
the upper end of the table. He wooeth by a parti- 
cular, and his strongest argument is the jointure. 
His observation is all about the fashion, and hee 
commends partlets for a rare device. He speakes 
no language, but smels of dogs, or hawks ; and his 
ambition flies justice-height. He loves to be com- 
mended ; and he will goe into the kitchin, but heele 
have it. He loves glorie ; but is so lazy, as he is 
content with flattery. He speakes most of the 
precedency of age, and protests fortune the greatest 
vertue. He siunmoneth the old servants, and tels 
what strange acts he will doe when he raignes. 
He verily beleeves house -keepers the best common- 
wealths men ; and therefore studies baking, brewing, 
greasing, and such as the limbes of goochiesse. He 
judgeth it no small signe of wisdome to talke much ; 
his tongue therefore goes continually his errand, 


but never speeds. If his understanding were not 
honester then his will, no man should keepe good 
conceit by him ; for bee thinkes it no theft, to sell 
all be can to opinion. His pedegree and bis fathers 
seale-ring, are the stilts of his crazed disposition. 
He had rather keepe company with the dregs of men, 
then not to be the best man. His insinuation is the 
inviting of men to his house ; and he thinks it a 
great modesty to comprehend his cheere under a 
peece of mutton and a rabbet ; if he by this time bee 
not knowne, he will goe home againe : for he can 
no more abide to have himselfe concealed, then bis 
land ; yet he is (as you see) good for nothing, except 
to make a stallion to maintains the race. 

A Braggadochio Welshman 

S the oyster that the pearle is in, for a 
man may be pickt out of him. He hath 
the abilities of the mind in potentia, and 
actu nothing but boldnesse. His clothes are in 
fashion before his body : and bee accounts boldnesse 
the chiefest vertue ; above all men hee loves an 
herrald, and speaks pedegrees naturally. He ac- 
counts none well descended, that call him not cousin ; 
and preferres Given Clendower before any of the 
nine worthies. The first note of his familiarity is 


the confession of his valour; and so he prevents 
quarels. He voucheth Welch, a pure and unconquered 
language, and courts lathes with the story of their 
chronicle. To conclude, he is precious in his owne 
conceit, and upon S. Bavies day without comparison. 

A Pedant. 

|EE treades in a rule, and one hand scannes 
p verses, and the other holds his scepter. 
I Hee dares not thinke a thought, that the 
nominative case governs not the verbe ; and he never 
had meaning in his life, for he travelled only for 
words. His ambition is criticisme, and his example 
Tulhj. Hee values phrases, and elects them by the 
sound, and the eight parts of speech are his servants. 
To bee briefe, he is a heteroclite, for hee wants the 
plurall number, having onely the single quality of 

A Serving-man 

;S a creature, ivhich though he he not 
drunk, yet is not his owne man. He 
tels without asking who ownes him, by 
the superscription of his livery. His life is for ease 
and leasure, much about gentleman-like. His wealth 
enough to suffice nature, and sufficient to make him 


happy, if he were sure of it ; for he hath little, and 
wants nothing, he values himselfe higher or lower, 
as his master is. Hee hates or loves the men, as 
his master cloth the master. He is commonly proud 
of his masters horses, or his Christmas : hee sleepes 
when he is sleepy, is of his religion, only the clocke 
of his stomack is set to go an houre after his. He 
seldome breakes his own clothes. He never drinks 
but double, for he must be pledg'd ; nor commonly 
without some short sentence nothing to the purpose : 
and seldome abstaines till he comes to a thirst. His 
discretion is to bee careful] for his masters credit, 
and his sufficiency to marshall dishes at a table, and 
to carve well. His neatnesse consists much in his 
haire and outward linnen. His courting language, 
visible bawdy jests ; and against his matter faile, he 
is ahvay ready furnished with a song. His inherit- 
ance is the chamber-maid, but often purchaseth his 
masters daughter, by reason of opportunity, or for 
want of a better; he alwayes cuckolds himselfe, 
and never maries but his owne widdow. His master 
being appeased, he becomes a retainer, and entailes 
himselfe and his posterity upon his heire-males for 


An Host 

fS the kerncll of a signe : or the signe is 
the shell, and mine host is the snaile. 
He consists of double beere and fellow- 
ship, and his vices are the bawds of his thirst. He 
entertaines humbly, and gives his guests power, as 
well of himselfe as house. He answers all mens 
expectations to his power, save in the reckoning : 
and hath gotten the tricke of greatnesse, to lay all 
mislikes upon his servants. His wife is the cum- 
min seed of his dove-house ; and to be a good guest 
is a warrant for her liberty. Hee traffiques for 
guests by mens friends, friends friends, and is sensible 
onely of bis purse. In a word, hee is none of his 
owne : for he neither eats, drinks, or thinks, but at 
other mens charges and appointments. 

An Ostler 

■ S a thing that scrubbeth unreasonably his 
horse, reasonably himselfe. He consists 
of travellers, though he be none himselfe. 
His highest ambition is to be host, and the invention 
of his signe is his greatest wit : for the expressing 
whereof hee sends away the painters for want of 


understanding. He hath certaine charmes for a 
horse mouth, that hee should not eat his hay : and 
behind your back, he will cozen your horse to his 
face. His curry-combe is one of his best parts, for 
he expresseth much by the gingling : and his mane- 
combe is a spinners card turn'd out of service. Hee 
puffes and blowes over your horse, to the hazard of a 
double jugge ; and leaves much of the dressing to the 
proverbe of Midi mutuo scabient, One horse rubs 
another. Hee comes to him that cals loudest, not 
first; hee takes a broken head patiently, but the 
knave he feeles not. His utmost honesty is good fel- 
lowship, and he speakes Northerne, what country- 
man soever. He hath a pension of ale from the 
next smith and sadler for intelligence : he loves to 
see you ride, and holds your stirrop in expectation. 

A good Wife 

S a mans best moveable, a scien incor- 
porate with the stocke, bringing sweet 
fruit ; one that to her husband is more 
then a friend, lesse than trouble: an equall with 
him in the yoke. Calamities and troubles she shares 
alike, nothing pleaseth her that cloth not him. She 
is relative in all ; and he without her, but halfe 
himself. She is his absent hands, eyes, eares, and 


mouth : his present and absent all. She frames her 
nature unto his howsoever : the hiacinih followes not 
the sun more willingly. Stultbornnesse and ob- 
stinacy are hearbs that grow not in her garden. 
She leaves tattling to the gossips of the town, and 
is more seene then heard. Her houshold is her 
charge ; her care to that, makes her seldom non 
resident. Her pride is but to be cleanly, and her 
thrift not to be prodigall. By her discretion she hath 
children, not wantons ; a husband without her, is a 
misery in mans apparel : none but she hath an aged 
husband, to whom she is both a staffe and a chaire. 
To conclude, shee is both wise and religious, which 
makes her all this. 

A Melancholy Man 

\ S a strayer from the drove : one that 
nature made sociable, because shee made 
him man, and a crazed disposition hath 
altered. Impleasing to all, as all to him ; strag- 
gling thoughts are his content, they make him 
dreame waking, there's his pleasure. His imagina- 
tion is never idle, it keeps his mind in a continuall 
motion, as the poise the clocke : he winds up his 
thoughts often, and as often unwinds them ; Pene- 
lopes web thrives faster. He'le seldome be found 
without the shade of some grove, in whose bottome 


a river dwels. Hee carries a cloud in his face, 
never faire weather : his outside is framed to his 
inside, in that hee keepes a decorum, both unsecmelj. 
Speake to him ; he heares with his ejes, eares fol- 
low his mind, and that's not at leysure. He thinkes 
businesse, but never does any : he is all contempla- 
tion, no action. He hewes and fashions his thoughts, 
as if he meant them to some purpose ; but they 
prove unprofitable, as a peece of wrought timber to 
no use. His spirits, and the sunne are enemies ; 
the sunne bright and warme, his humour blacke and 
cold: variety of foolish apparitions people his head, 
they suffer him not to breathe, according to the ne- 
cessities of nature ; which makes him sup up a 
draught of as much aire at once, as would serve at 
thrice. He denies nature her due in sleep, and 
over-paies her with watchfulnesse : nothing pleaseth 
him long, but that which pleaseth his owne fantasies : 
they are the consuming evils, and evill consump- 
tions that consume him alive. Lastly, he is a man 
onely in shew, but comes short of the better part ; a 
whole reasonable soule, which is mans chiefe pre- 
eminence, and sole marke from creatures sensible. 


A Saylor 

S a piteht peece of reason calckt and 
tackled, and onely studied to dispute 
with tempests. He is part of his own 
provision, for he lives ever pickled. A fore-wind is 
the substance of his creed ; and fresh water the 
burden of his prayers. He is naturally ambitious, 
for he is ever climing : out of which as naturally he 
feares ; for he is ever flying : time and he are every 
where, ever contending who shall arrive first : he is 
well winded, for he tires the day, and out-runs 
darknesse. His life is like a haivkes, the best part 
mewed ; and if he live till three coates, is a master. 
Hee sees Gods wonders in the deep : but so, as 
rather they appeare his play-fellowes, then stirrers of 
his zeale : nothing but hunger and hard rockes can 
convert him, and then but his upper decke neither ; 
for his hold neither feares nor hopes. His sleepes are 
but repreevals of his dangers, and when he wakes, 
'tis but next stage to dying. His wisdome is the 
coldest part about him, for it ever points to the 
North : and it lies lowest, which makes his valour 
every tide ore-flow it. In a storme 'tis disputable, 
whether the noise be more his, or the elements, and 
which will first leave scolding ; on which side of the 
ship hee may bee saved best, whether his faith bee 


starre-boord faitb, or lar-boord ; or tbe helme at that 
time not all his hope of heaven : his keele is the 
embleme of his conscience, till it be split he never 
repents, then no farther than the land allowes him, 
and his language is a new confusion, and all his 
thoughts new nations : his body and his ship are both 
one burthen, nor is it knowne who stowes most wine, 
or rowles most, oidy the ship is guided, he has no 
sterne : a barnacle and bee are bred together, both 
of one nature, and 'tis fear'd one reason : upon any 
but a wooden horse he cannot ride, and if the wind 
blow against him, he dare not : he swarves up to his 
seat as to a saile-yard, and cannot sit unlesse he beare 
a flag-staffe : if ever he be broken to the saddle, 'tis 
but a voyage still, for he mis-takes the bridle for a 
bowlin, and is ever turning his horse-taile : he can 
pray, but 'tis by rote, not faith, and when he would 
hee dares not, for his brackish beleefe hath made that 
ominous. A rock or a quicke-sand plucks him be- 
fore hee bee ripe, else he is gathered to his friends 
at Wapping. 

A Souldier 

?S the husband-man of valour, his sword 
is Ins plough, which Honour and Aqua- 
vitae, two fiery met aid jades, are ever 
drawing. A younger brother best becomes armes. 


an elder, the thankos for them ; every heat makes 
him a harvest ; and discontents abroad are his 
sowers : he is actively his princes, but passively his 
angers servant. He is often a desirer of learning, 
which once arrived at, proves his strongest armour : 
he is a lover at all points ; and a true defender of 
the faith of women : more wealth than makes him 
seemc a handsome foe, lightly he covets not, lesse 
is below him : he never truly wants, but in much 
having, for then his ease and lechery afflict him : 
the word peace, though in prayer, makes him start, 
and God bee best considers by his power: hunger 
and cold ranke in the same file with him, and hold 
him to a man : his honour else, and the desire of 
doing things beyond him, would blow him greater 
than the sonnes of Anaclc. His religion is, com- 
monly, as his cause is (doubtfull) and that the best 
devotion keeps best quarter : he seldome sees gray 
hayres, some none at all, for where the sword fades, 
there the flesh gives fire : in charity, he goes beyond 
the clergy, for hee loves his greatest enemy best, 
much drinking. He seemes a full student, for hee is 
a great desirer of controversies, he argues sharply, 
and carries his conclusion in his scabbard ; in the 
first refining of man-kind this was the gold, his 
actions are his ammell. His alay (for else you can- 
not worke him perfectly) continuall duties, heavy 
and weary marches, lodgings as full of need as cold 


diseases. No time to argue, but to execute. Line 
him with these, and linke him to his squadrons, and 
hee appeares a most rich chaine for princes. 

A Taylor 

S a creature made up out of threds, that 
were pared off from Adam, when hee 
was rough-cast. The end of his being 
differeth from that of others, and is not to serve 
God, but to cover sinne. Other mens pride is his 
best patron, and their negligence, a maine passage 
to his profit. He is a thing of more then ordinary 
judgement : for by vertue of that, hee buyeth land, 
buildeth houses, and raiseth the low set roofe of his 
crosse legged fortune. His actions are strong en- 
counters, and for their notoriousnesse alwaies upon 
record. It is neither Amadis de Guide, nor the 
Knio-ht of the Sunne, that is able to resist them. A 
ten groats fee setteth them on foot, and a brace of 
officers bringeth them to execution. He handleth 
the Spanish pike, to the hazzard of many poore 
Egyptian vermins ; and in shew of his valour, scorn - 
eth a greater gantlet, then will cover the top of his 
midle finger. Of all weapons he most affecteth the 
long bill; and this he will manage to the great 
prejudice of a customers estate. His spirit notwith- 


standing is not so much as to make you thinke him 
man ; like a true mongrell, he neither bites nor 
barks, but when your back is towards him. His 
heart is a lumpe of congealed snow : Prometheus was 
asleep while it was making. Hee differeth altogether 
from God ; for with him the best peeces are still 
marked out for damnation, and without hope of re- 
covery shall be cast down into hell. He is partly an 
alchymist ; for hee extracteth his owne apparel] out 
of other mens clothes ; and when occasion serveth, 
making a brokers shop his alembicke ; can turne 
your silkes into gold, and having furnished his ne- 
cessities, after a month or two, if he be urged unto it, 
reduce them again to their proper substance. He is 
in part likewise an arithmetician ; cunning enough 
for multiplication and addition, but cannot abide 
substraction : Sum/ma totalis, is the language of his 
Canaan; and usque ad iiltimum quadrantem, the 
period of all his charity. For any skill in geometry, 
I dare not commend him ; for hee could never yet 
find out the dimensions of his owne conscience : not- 
withstanding he hath many bottomes, it seemeth 
this is alwaies bottomlesse. He is double yarded, 
and yet his female complaineth of want of measure. 
And so with a Libera nos a malo, I leave you : 
promising to amend whatsoever is amisse, at his next 


A Puritane 

S a diseas'd peece of Apocrypha : bind him 
to the Bible, and he corrupts the whole 
text : ignorance and fat feed, are his 
founders ; his nurses, railing, rabbies, and round 
breeches : his life is but a borrowed blast of wind ; 
for betweene two religions, as betweene two doores, 
he is ever whistling. Truly whose child he is, is yet 
unknowne ; for willingly his faith allowes no father : 
onely thus far his pedegree is found, Bragger and he 
flourisht about a time first ; his fiery zeale keepes 
him continually costive, which withers him into his 
own translation, and till he eat a schooleman, he is 
hide-bound ; he ever prayes against non residents, 
but is himselfe the greatest discontinuer, for he never 
keepes neere his text : any thing that the law 
allowes, but marriage, and March beere, hee rnur- 
mures at ; what it disallowes and holds dangerous, 
makes him a discipline : where the gate stands open, 
hee is ever seeking a stile : and where his learning 
ought to climb, he creeps through : give him ad- 
vice, you run into traditions, and urge a modest 
course, he cryes out councels. His greatest care is 
to contemne obedience, his last care to serve God 
handsomely and cleanly. Hee is now become so 
crosse a kind of teaching, that should the Church 


enjoyne cleane shirts, hee were lowsie : more sense 
then single praiers is not his ; nor more in those, 
then still the same petitions : from which he either 
feares a learned faith, or douhts God understands 
not at first hearing. Shew him a ring, hee runs 
backe like a heare ; and hates square dealing as 
allied to caps : a paire of organs blow him out o'th 
parish, and are the only glister-pipes to coole him. 
Where the meat is best, there he confutes most, 
for his arguing is but the efficacy of his eating : 
good bits he holds breed good positions, and the 
Pope hee best concludes against, in plum-broth. 
He is often drunke, but not as we are, temporally, 
nor can his sleepe then cure him, for the fumes of 
his ambition make his very soule reele, and that 
small beere that should allay him (silence) keepes 
him more surfeited, and makes his heat breake out in 
private houses : women and lawyers are his best 
disciples, the one next fruit, longs for forbidden 
doctrine, the other to maintaine forbidden titles, both 
which he sowes amongst them. Honest he dare not 
be, for that loves order : yet if he can bee brought 
to ceremonie, and made but master of it, he is con- 


A Whoore 

; S a high-way to the Divell, bee that lookes 
upon her with desire, begins his voyage : 
hee thatstaies to talkewith her, mends his 
pace, and he who enjoyes her, is at his journies end : 
her body is the tilted lees of pleasure, dasht over 
with a little decking to hold colour ; tast her, she's 
dead, and falls upon the pallate ; the sins of other 
women shew in landscip, far oif and fidl of shadow, 
hers in statue, neere hand, and bigger in the life : 
she prickes betimes, for her stocke is a white thorne, 
which cut and grafted on, shee growes a medler : 
her trade is opposite to any other, for shee sets up 
without credit, and too much custome breakes her ; 
the money that she gets is like a traitors, given only 
to corrupt her ; and what shee gets, serves but to 
pay diseases. She is ever moor'd in sinne, and ever 
mending ; and after thirty, she is the chirurgions 
creature : shame and repentance are two strangers 
to her, and only in an hospitall acquainted. She 
lives a reprobate, like Cain, still branded, finding no 
habitation but her feares, and flies the face of justice 
like a felon. The first yeere of her trade she is an 
eyesse, scratches and cryes to draw on more affection : 
the second a soare : the third a ramage whoore : the 
fourth and fift, she's an intermewer, preies for her 


selfe, and ruffles all she reaches ; from thence to ten 
she bears the name of white whoore, and then her 
bloud forsakes her with salt rheumes, and now she 
has mewed three coats ; now shee growes weary and 
diseas'd together, favours her wing, checks little, 
but lies for it, bathes for her health, and scowres to 
keepe her coole, yet still she takes in stones, shee 
fires her selfe else : the next remove is haggard, still 
more cunning ; and if my art deceive me not, more 
crazie. All cares and cures are doubled now upon 
her, and line her perch, or now she mewes her 
pounces, at all these yeares she flies at fooles and 
kils too : the next is bussard bawd, and there I leave 

A very Whore 

^S a woman. Shee enquires out all the 
great meetings, which are medicines for 
her itching. Shee kisseth open-mouth'd, 
and spits in the palmes of her hands to make them 
moist. Her eyes are like free-booters, living upon 
the spoile of stragglers ; and shee baits her desires 
with a million of prostitute countenances and entice- 
ments ; in the light she listneth to parlies : but in 
the darke shee understandeth signes best. Shee 
will sell her smocke for cufies, and so her shooes be 
fine, shee cares not though her stockings want feet. 


Her modesty is curiositie, and her smell is one of 
her hest ornaments. Shee passeth not a span bredth. 
And to have done, she is the cook and the meat, 
dressing her selfe all day, to be tasted with the 
better appetite at night. 

A meere Common Lawyer 

, S the best shadow to make a discreet one 
shew the fairer. Hee is a materia prima 
informed by reports, actuated by statutes, 
and hath his motion by the favorable intelligence 
of the court. His law is alwayes furnisht with a 
commission to arraigne his conscience : but upon 
judgement given, he usually sets it at large. Hee 
thinks no language worth knowing but his Barra- 
goidn. Onely for that point he hath beene a long 
time at warres with Priscian for a northerne province. 
He imagines that by super excellency his profession 
onely is learning, and that it's a prophanation of the 
temple to his Themis dedicated, if any of the liberall 
arts be there admitted to offer strange incense to her. 
For indeed he is all for mony. Seven or eight 
yeares squires him out, some of his nation lesse 
standing : and ever since the night of his call, he 
forgot much what he was at dinner. The next 
morning his man (in actna or potentki) injoyes his 


pickadels. His landresse is then shrewdly troubled 
in fitting him a ruffe ; his perpetual! badge. His 
love-letters of the last yeare of his gentlemanship 
are stuft with discontinuances, remitters, aud uncore 
prists : but now being enabled to speake in proper 
person, bee talkes of a French-hood, in stead of a 
joynture, wages his law, and joynes issue. Then 
he begins to sticke his letters in his ground cham- 
ber-window ; that so the superscription may make 
his squire-ship transparent. His herauldry gives 
him place before the minister, because the law was 
before the gospell. Next tearme he walkes his 
hoopsleeve gowne to the ball ; there it proclaimes 
him . He feeds fat in the reading, and till it chances 
to his turne, dislikes no house order so much, as 
that the month is so contracted to a fortnight. 
'Mongst his countrey neighbours, he arrogates as 
much honour for being reader of an Inne of Chancery, 
as if it had beene of his own house. For they, poore 
soules, take law and conscience, Coiu't and Chancery 
for all one. He learn'd to frame his cases from 
putting riddles, and imitating Merlins prophecies, 
and. to set all the crosse-row together by the eares. 
Yet his whole law is not able to decide Lucans one old 
controversie 'twist Tau and Sigma. He accounts 
no man of his cap and coat idle, but who trots not 
the circuit. Hee affects no life or quality for it selfe, 
but for gaine ; and that at least, to the stating him 


in a justice of peace-ship, which is the first quick - 
ning soule superadded to the elementary and inani- 
mate forme of his n ew title. His tearmes are his wives 
vacations. Yet she then may usurpe divers court- 
daies, and hath her returnes in mensem, for writs of 
entry : often shorter. His vacations are her termers. 
But in assise time (the circuit being long) he may 
have a tryall at home against him by nisiprius. No 
way to heaven he thinkes, so wise, as tlirough West- 
minster Hall ; and his clarkes commonly through it 
visit both heaven and hell . Yet then hee oft forgets his 
journeyes end, although hee looke on the Starre- 
Chamber. Neither is he wholly destitute of the 
arts. Grammar hee hath enough to make termina- 
tion of those words which his authority hath endeni- 
zon'd. Rhetoriclce some ; but so little, that its thought 
a concealement. Logic-he enough to wrangle. AritJi- 
meticke enough for the ordinals of his yeare books : 
and number-roles : but he goes not to multiplica- 
tion ; there's a statute against it. So much geome- 
tric, that he can advise in 3bperambiilationefaeienda, 
or a rationalibus divisis. In astronomy and astro- 
logy he is so far seene, that by the Dominicall letter, 
he knowes the holy dayes, and finds by calculation 
that Michaelmas terme will be long and dirty. Marry 
hee knowes so much in musicke, that he affects only 
the most and cunningest discords ; rarely a perfect 
concord, especially song, except in fine. His skill 


in perspective endeavors much to deceive the eye of 
the law, and gives many false colours. He is 
specially practised in necromancy, (such a kind as is 
out of the statute of Primo) by raising many dead 
questions. "VHiat sufficiency he hath in criticisme, 
the foule copies of his special! pleas will tell you. 

Many of the same coat, which are much to be 
honoured, partake of divers of his indifferent qualities: 
but so, that discretion, vertue, and sometimes other 
good learning, concurring and distinguishing orna- 
ments to them, make them as a foyle to set their 
worth on. 

A meere Scholer. 

MEERE scholer is an intelligible asse : 
or a silly fellow in blacke, that speaks 
sentences more familiarly than sense. 
The antiquity of his University is his creed, and the 
excellency of his Colledge (though but for a match 
at foot-ball) an article of his faith : he speakes Latin 
better then his mother-tongue ; and is a stranger in 
no part of the world, but his owne countrey : he do's 
usually tell great stories of himselfe to small purpose, 
for they are commonly ridiculous, be they true or 
false : his ambition is, that he either is or shall be a 
graduate : but if ever he get a fellowship, he has 
then no fellow. In spight of all logicke he dare 


sweare and maintaine it, that a cuckold and a 
townes-man are termini convertibiles, though his 
mothers husband he an alderman : he was never 
begotten (as it seems) without much wrangling ; for 
his whole life is spent in pro and contra : his tongue 
goes alwaies before his wit, like gentleman-usher, 
but somewhat faster. That he is a compleat gallant 
in all points, cap a pea ; witnesse his horseman-ship 
and the wearing of his weapons : he is commonly 
long-winded, able to speake more with ease, then 
any man can endure to heare with patience. Uni- 
versity jests are his universall discourse, and his 
newes, the demeanor of the proctors : his phrase, 
the apparell of his mind, is made of divers shreds 
like a cushion, and when it goes plainest, it hath a 
rash outside, and fustian linings. The currant of 
his speech is clos'd with an ergo ; and what-ever be 
the question, the truth is on his side. 'Tis a wrong 
to his reputation to be ignorant of any thing ; and 
yet hee knowes not that he knowes nothing : he 
gives directions for husbandry, from Virgils Geor- 
gickes ; for cattell, from his Bucolicl'S ; for warlike 
stratagems, from his JEneides, or Ccesars Commen- 
taries : hee orders all things by the booke, is 
skilfull in all trades, and thrives in none : hee is led 
more by his eares then his understanding, taking 
the sound of words for their true sense : and do's 
therefore confidently beleeve, that Erra Pater was 


the father of heretiques ; Rodidphus Agricola, a 
substantial! farmer ; and will not sticke to averre, 
that Sy sterna's logicke doth excell Keckermans : his 
ill lucke is not so much in being a foole, as in being- 
put to such pains to expresse it to the world : for 
what in others is naturall, in him (with much a doe) 
is artificiall : his poverty is his happinesse, for it 
makes some men beleeve, that he is none of fortunes 
favorites. That learning which he hath, was in non- 
age put in backward like a glister, and 'tis now like 
ware miss-laid in a pedlers pack ; a ha's it, but 
knowes not where it is. In a word, bee is the index 
of a man, and the title-page of a scholler, or a Pu- 
ritane in morality ; much in profession, nothing in 

A Tinker 

S a moveable : for hee hath no abiding 
place ; by his motion hee gathers heat, 
thence his cholericke nature. He seemes 
to be very devout, for his life is a continuall pilgrim- 
age, and sometimes in humility goes barefoot, thereon 
making necessity a vertue. His house is as ancient 
as Tubed Cains, and so is a runnagate by antiquity : 
yet he proves himselfe a gallant, for he carries all 
his wealth upon his back ; or a philosopher, for he 
beares all his substance about him. From his art 


was musick first invented,, and therefore is he alwaies 
furnisht with a song : to which his hammer keeping 
tune, proves that he was the first founder of the 
kettle-drum. Note, that where the best ale is, there 
stands his musicke most upon crotchets. The com- 
panion of his travels is some foide sunne-burnt 
Queane, that since the terrible statute recanted 
gypsisme, and is turned pedleresse. So marches he 
all over England with his bag and baggage. His 
conversation is unreproveable ; for bee is ever mend- 
ing. Hee observes truly the statutes, and therefore 
he can rather steale then begge, in which hee is 
unremoveably constant in spight of whips or im- 
prisonment : and so a strong enemy to idlenesse, 
that in mending one hole, he had rather make three 
then want worke, and when hee hath done, hee 
throwes the wallet of his faults behind him. He 
embraceth naturally ancient custome, conversing in 
open fields, and lowly cottages. If he visit cities or 
townes, tis but to deale upon the imperfections of 
our weaker vessels. His tongue is very voluble, 
which with canting proves him a linguist. He is 
entertain'd in every place, but enters no further then 
the doore, to avoid suspition. Some would take him 
to be a coward ; but beleeve it, he is a lad of mettle, 
his valour is commonly three or foure yards long, 
fastned to a pike in the end for flying off. He is 
very provident, for he will fight but with one at once, 


.and then also hee had rather submit than be counted 
obstinate. To conclude, if he scape Tyburn and 
Banbury, he dies a begger. 

An Apparatour 

'. S a chicke of the egge abuse, hatcht by 
the warmth of authority : hee is a bird 
of rapine, and begins to prey and feather 
together. He croakes like a raven against the death 
of rich men, and so gets a legacy unbequeath'd : 
his happines is in the multitude of children, for their 
increase is his wealth, and to that end, he himselfe 
yearely addes one. He is a cunning hunter, un- 
coupling his intelligencing hounds, under hedges, in 
thickets and corne-fields, who follow the chase to 
city-suburbs, where often his game is at covert : his 
quiver hangs by his side, stuft with silver arrowes, 
which hee shoots against church-gates, and private 
mens doores, to the hazard of their purses and 
credit. There went but a paire of sheeres betweene 
him and the pursivant of hell, for they both delight 
in sin, grow richer by it, and are by justice appointed 
to punish it : only the devill is more cunning, for he 
picks a living out of others gaines. His living lieth 
in his eye which (like spirits) hee sends through 
chinkes, and key-holes, to survey the places of dark- 


nesse ; for which purpose he studieth the optickes, 
but can discover no colour but black, for the pure 
white of chastity dazleth his eyes. He is a Catho- 
licke, for he is every where ; and with a politicke, 
for he transforms himselfe into all shapes. He 
travels on foot to avoid idlenesse, and loves the 
church entirely, because it is the place of his edifi- 
cation. Hee accounts not all sins mortall : for for- 
nication with him is a veniall sin, and to take bribes, 
a matter of charity : hee is collector for burnings and 
losses at sea, and in casting account, can readily 
substract the lesser from the greater sumnie. Thus 
lives he in a golden age, till Death by a processe, 
summons him to appeare. 

An Almanack-maker 

; S the worst part of an astronomer : a 
certaine compact of figures, characters 
and cyphers : out of which he scores the 
fortune of a yeare, not so profitably, as doubtfully. 
He is tenant by custome to the planets, of whom 
hee holds the 12. houses by lease paroll : to them 
he paies yearely rent, his studie, and time ; yet lets 
them out againe (with all his heart) for 40s. per 
annum. His life is meerely contemplative : for his 
practice, 'tis worth nothing, at least not worthy of 


credit ; and if (by chance) he purchase any, he loseth 
it againe at the yeares end, for time brings truth to 
light. Ptdlomy and Ticho Brache are his patrons, 
whose volumes hee understands not, but admires ; 
and the rather because they are strangers, and so 
easier to bee credited, than controuled. His life is 
upright, for he is ahvayes looking upward ; yet dares 
beleeve nothing above primum mobile, for 'tis out of 
the reach of his Jacobs staffe. His charity extends 
no further then to mountebankes and sow-gelders, 
to whom he bequeathes the seasons of the yeere, to 
kill or torture by. The verses in his booke have a 
worse pace than ever had Rochester Hackney : for 
his prose, 'tis dappled with inke-horne tearmes, and 
may serve for an almanacke : but for his judging at 
the uncertainty of weather, any old shepheard shall 
make a dunce of him. He would be thought the 
devils intelligencer for stolne goods, if ever he steale 
out of that quality : as a flie turnes to a maggot, so 
the corruption of the cunning-man is the generation 
of an empericke : his works fly foorth in small volumes, 
yet not all, for many ride poast to chandlers and 
tobacco shops in folio. To be briefe, he fals 3. 
degrees short of his promises ; yet is hee the key to 
unlocke termes, and lawdayes, a dumbe Mercurie to 
point out high-wayes, and a bayliffe of all marts and 
faires in England. The rest of him you shall know 
next yeare ; for what hee will be then, he himselfe 
knowes not. 


An Hypocrite 

S a gilded pill, compos'd of two vertuous 
ingredients, naturall dishonesty, and 
artificiall dissimulation. Simple fruit, 
plant, or drug, he is none, but a deformed mixture, 
bred betwixt evill nature and false art, by a mon- 
strous generation; and may well bee put into the 
reckoning of those creatures that God never made. 
In church or commonwealth (for in both these this 
mongr ell-weed will shoot) it is hard to say whether 
hee be physicke or a disease : for he is both in divers 

As he is gilt with an outside of seeming purity, 
or as he offereth himselfe to you to be taken downe 
in a cup or taste of golden zeale and simplicity, you 
may call him physicke. Nay, and never let potion 
give patient good stoole, if being truly tasted and 
relisht, he be not as lothsome to the stomake of any 
honest man. 

He is also physicke, in being as commodious for 
use, as hee is odious in taste, if the body of the 
company into which he is taken, can make true use 
of him. For the malice of his nature makes him so 
informer-lilce-dangerous, in taking advantage of any- 
thing done or said : yea, even to the ruine of his 
makers, if hee may have benefit ; that such a crea- 


ture in a society makes men as carefull of their 
speeches and actions, as the sight of a knowne cut- 
purse in a throng makes them watchful! over their 
purses and pockets : hee is also in this respect pro- 
fitable physicke, that his conversation being once 
truly tasted and discovered, the hateful! foulnes of it 
will make those that are not fully like him, to purge 
all such diseases as are ranke in him, out of their 
own lives ; as the sight of some citizens on horse- 
back, make a judicious man amend his owne faults 
in horsemanship. If none of these uses can bee 
made of him, let him not long offend the stomack of 
your company ; your best way is to spue him out. 
That he is a disease in the body where he liveth, 
were as strange a thing to doubt, as whether there 
be knavery in horse-coursers. For if among sheep, 
the rot ; among dogs, the mange ; amongst horses, 
the glaunders ; amongst men and Avomen, the 
Northerne itch, and the French ache be diseases; 
an hypocrite cannot but be the like in ah states and 
societies that breed him. If hee bee a clergy hypo- 
crite, then all manner of vice is for the most part so 
proper to him, as hee will grudge any man the 
practice of it but himselfe ; like that grave burgesse, 
who being desired to lend his clothes to represent a 
part in a comedy, answered : No by h is leave, he 
would have no body play the foole in 7iis clothes but 
himselfe. Hence are his so austere reprehensions 


of drinking healths, lascivious talke, usury and un- 
conscionable dealing ; when as himself hating the 
prophane mixture of malt and water, will by his good 
wil let nothing come within him, but the purity of 
the grape, when he can get it of anothers cost : but 
this must not be done neither, without a preface of 
seeming lothncsse, turning up the eyes, moving the 
head, laying hand on the brest, and protesting that 
he would not do it but to strengthen his body, being 
even consumed with dissembled zeale, and tedious 
and thanklesse babbling to God and his auditors. 
And for the other vices, doe but venture the making 
your selfe private with him, or trusting of him, and 
if you come off without a savour of the ayre which 
his soule is infected with, you have great fortune. 
The fardle of all this ware that is in him, you shall 
commonly see carried upon the backe of these two 
beasts, that live within him, ignorance and imperious- 
nesse : and they may well serve to carry other vices, 
for of themselves they are insupportable. His 
ignorance acquites him of all science, humane or 
divine, and of all language, but his mothers ; holding 
nothing pure, holy or sincere, but the senselesse 
collections of his owne crazed braine, the zealous 
fumes of his enflamed spirit, and the endlesse labours 
of his eternal] tongue ; the motions whereof, when 
matter and words faile, (as they often doe) must be 
patched up, to accomplish his foure houres in a day 


at the least, with long and fervent hummes. Any 
thing else, either for language or matter, he cannot 
abide, but thus censureth : Latins, the language of 
the I/east ; Greeke, the tongue wherein the heathen 
poets wrote their fictions ; Hebrew, the speech of the 
Jeives that crucified Christ : controversies doe not 
edifie ; logidee and philosophic, are the suhtilties of 
Saffian to deceive the simple. Humane stories pro- 
phane, aud not savouring of the spirit : in a word, 
all decent and sensible forme of speech and perswa- 
sion, (though in his owne tongue) vaine ostentation. 
And all this is the burthen of his ignorance : saving 
that sometimes idlenesse will put in also to beare a 
part of the baggage. 

His other heast imperiousnes, is yet more proudly 
loaden, it carryeth a burthen, that no cords of 
authority, spjirituall nor temporal!, should bind, if 
it might have the full swinge : no pilot, no prince 
should command him : nay, he will command them, 
and at his pleasure censure them, if they will not 
suffer their eares to be fettered with the long chaines 
of his tedious collations, their purses to be emptied 
with the inundations of his unsatiable humour, and 
their judgements to be blinded with the muffler of 
his zealous ignorance. For this doth he familiarly 
insult over his maintainor that breeds him, his 
patron that feeds him. and in time over all them that 
will suffer him to set a foot within their doores, or 



put a finger in their purses. All this, and much 
more is in him, that abhorring degrees and Uni- 
versities, as reliques of superstition, hath leapt from 
a shopboord, or a cloake-bag, to a deske, or pulpit, 
and that like a sea-god in a pageant, hath the 
rotten laths of his culpable life, and palpable igno- 
rance, covered over with the painted-cloth of a pure 
gowne, and a night-cap ; and with a false trumpet 
of famed zeals, draweth after him some poore 
nymphs and madmen, that delight more to resort 
to darke caves and secret places, then to open and 
publike assemblies. The lay -hypocrite, is to the 
other a champion, disciple, and subject; and will 
not acknowledge the tvthe of the subjection to any 
miter; no, not to any scepter, that he will doe to 
the hooke and crooke of his zeale-blind shepheard. 
No Jesuites demand more blind and absolute obedi- 
ence from their vassals, no magistrates of the canting 
society, more slavish subjection from the members of 
that travelling state, then the clerke hypocrites 
expect from these lay pupils. Nay, they must not 
only be obeyd, fed, and defended, but admired too : 
and that their lay-followers doe sincerely, as a shirt - 
lesse fellow with a cudgel! under his arme doth a 
face-wringing ball et -sing er ; a water-bearer on the 
floore of a play-house, a wide mouth'd poet, that 
speakes nothing but bladders and bumbast. Other- 
wise, for life and profession, nature and art, inward 


and outward: they agree in all, like canters and 
gypsies, they are all zeale, no knowledge : all purity, 
no humanity : all simplicity, no honesty : and if 
you never trust them, they will never deceive you. 

A Maquerela, in plaine English a Bawde, 

;S an old char-cole, that hath heen burnt 
her selfe, and therefore is able to kindle 
a whole greene coppice. The burden of 
her song is like that of Frier Bacons head ; time is, 
time was, and time is past : in repeating which, she 
makes a wicked brazen face, and weepes in the cup, 
to allay the heat of her aqua vita?. Her teeth are 
falne out ; marry her nose, and chin, intend very 
shortly to be friends, and meet about it. Her 3 T eares 
are sixty and odde : that she accounts her best time 
of trading ; for a bawd is like a medlar, she's not 
ripe, till she be rotten. Her envy is like that of 
the devill, to have all faire women like her ; and 
because 'tis impossible they should catch it being so 
young, she hurries them to it by diseases. Her 
parke is a villanous barren ground ; and all the 
deere in it are rascall : yet poore cottagers in the 
country (that know her but by hearesay) thinke well 
of her ; for what she encloses to day, shee makes 
common to morrow. Her sroods and her selfe are 


all removed in one sort, only she makes bold to take 
the upper hand of them, and to be carted before 
them ; the thought of which, makes her she cannot 
endure a posset, because it puts her in mind of a 
bason. Shee sits continually at a rackt rent ; espe- 
cially, if her landlord beare office in the parish : 
for her moveables in the house ; (besides her quicke 
cattell) they are not worth an inventory, onely her 
beds are most commonly in print : shee can easily 
turne a sempstrcsse into a waiting gentle- woman, 
but her wardrobe is most infectious, for it brings 
them to the falling -sicl-nesse : she hath only this 
one shew of temperance : that let a gentle-man send 
for ten pottles of wine in her house, bee shall have 
but ten quarts ; and if he want it that way, let him 
pay for't, and take it out in stewd prunes. The 
justices dark stands many times, her very good friend ; 
and works her peace with the justice of quorum. 
Nothing joyes her so much, as the comming over of 
strangers, nor daunts her so much, as the approach 
of Shrove-tuesday. In fine, not to foule more paper 
with so foide a subject, he that hath past under her, 
hath past the equinoctial ; he that hath scap't her, 
hath scap't worse then the calenture. 


A Chamber-maide. 

jIIE is her mistresses she secretary, and 
keepes the box of her teeth, her haire, 
and her painting very private. Her 
industry is up staires, and down staires like a drawer : 
and by her dry hand you may know she is a sore 
starcher. If shee lye at her masters beds feet, she 
is quit of the greene sicknesse for ever ; for she hath 
terrible drearnes when she's awake, as if she were 
troubled with the night-mare. She hath a good 
liking to dwell i'th country, but she holds London 
the goodliest forest in England, to shelter a great 
belly. She reads Greenes works over and over, but 
is so carried away with the Mirror of Knighthood, 
she is many times resolv'd to runne out of her selfe, 
and become a lady errant. If she catch a clap, she 
divides it so equally betweene the master and the 
serving-man, as if she had cut out the getting of it 
by a thred : only the knave sumner makes her bowle 
booty, and over-reach the master. The pedant of 
the house, though bee promise her mariage, cannot 
grow further inward with her, she hath paid for her 
credulity often, and now growes weary. She likes 
the forme of our mariage very well, in that a woman 
is not tyed to answer to any articles concerning 
questions of virginity : her mind, her body, and 


clothes, are parcels loosely tackt together, and for 
want of good utterance, she perpetually laughs out 
her meaning. Her mistris and she helpe to make 
away time, to the idlest purpose that can be, either 
for love or mony. In briefe, these chambermaids 
are like lotteries : you may draw twenty, ere one 
worth any thing. 

A Precisian. 

\0 speake no otherwise of this varnisht 
rottennesse, then in truth and verity hee 
is, I must define him to be a demure 
creature, fidl of orall sanctity, and mentall impiety ; 
a faire object to the eye, but starke naught for the 
understanding : or else a violent thing, much given 
to contradiction. He will be sure to be in opposi- 
tion with the Papist, though it be sometimes ac- 
companied with an absurditie ; like the ilanders 
neere adjoyning unto China, who salute by puting 
of their shooes, because the men of China doe it by 
their hats. If at any time he fast, it is upon Sun- 
day, and he is sure to feast upon Friday. Hee can 
better affoord you ten lies, then one oath ; and dare 
commit any sin gilded with a pretence of sanctity. 
He will not sticke to commit fornication or adultery, 
so it be done in the feare of God, and for the pro- 
pagation of the godly ; and can find in his heart to 


lye with any whore, save the whore of Babylon. 
To steale he holds it lawfull, so it bee from the wicked 
and Egyptians. He had rather see Antichrist, then 
a picture in the church window : and chuseth sooner 
to be false hanged, then see a leg at the name of 
Jesus, or one stand at the creede. He conceives 
his prayer in the kitcbin, rather then in the church ; 
and is of so good discourse, that he dares challenge 
the Almighty to talke with him ex tempore. He 
thinkes every organist is in the state of damnation, 
and had rather heare one of Robert Wisdomes 
Psalms, then the best hymne a eherubin can sing. 
He will not breake wind without an apology, or 
asking forgivenesse, nor kisse a gentle-woman for 
feare of lusting after her. He hath nicknamed all 
the prophets and apostles with his sonnes, and begets 
nothing but vertues for daughters. Finally, he is so 
sure of his salvation, that bee will not change places 
in heaven with the Virgin Mary, without boote. 

An Lines of Court man. 

EE is distinguished from a scholler by a 
paire of silke stockings, and a beaver 
hat, which makes him contemn a scholler 
as much as a scholler doth a schoolemaster. By 
that he hath beard one mooting, and seene two 
playes, he thinkes as basely of the University, as a 


young sophister doth of the grammar-sehoole. He 
talkes of the University, with that state, as if he 
were her chancellour ; finds faidt with alterations, 
and the fall of discipline, with an, It ivas not so when 
I ivas a student ; although that was within this 
halfe yeare. He will talke ends of Latine, though 
it be false, with as great confidence, as ever Cicero 
could pronounce an oration, though his best authors 
for't be tavernes and ordinaries. He is as farre 
behinde a courtier in his fashion, as a scholer is be- 
hind him : and the best grace in his behaviour, is 
to forget his acquaintance. 

He laughes at every man whose band sits not well, 
or that hath not a faire shoo-tie, and he is ashamed 
to be seene in any mans company that weares not 
his clothes well. His very essence he placeth in his 
outside, and his chiefest praier is, that his revenues 
may hold out for taffata cloakes in the summer, and 
velvet in the winter. For his recreation, he bad 
rather goe to a citizens wife, then a bawdy house, 
onely to save charges : and he holds fee-taile to be 
absolutely the best tenure. To his acquaintance he 
offers two quarts of wine, for one he gives. You 
shall never see him melancholy, but when he wants 
a new suit, or feares a sergeant : at which times 
onely, he betakes himselfe to Plot/don. By that he 
hath read Littleton, he can call Solon, Lycurgus, 
and Justinian, fooles, and dares compare his law to 
a Lord Chief e- Justices. 


A meere fellow of an house. 

|E is one whose hopes commonly exceed 
| his fortunes, ami whose mind soares 
„ p ahove his purse. If he hath read Taci- 
tus, Ghdcchardine, or Gallo-Belyicus, hee contemnes 
the late Lord Treasurer, for all the state-policy he 
had ; and laughs to think what a foole he could 
make of Solomon, if hee were now alive. He never 
weares new clothes, but against a commencement or 
a good time, and is commonly a degree behind the 
fashion. He hath sworne to see London once a 
yeare, though all his businesse be to see a play, 
walke a turne in Pauls, and observe the fashion. 
He thinkes it a discredit to be out of debt, which he 
never likely cleares, without resignation mony. He 
will not leave his part he hath in the privilege over 
yong gentlemen, in going bare to him, for the 
empire of Germany : he prayes as heartily for a 
sealing, as a cormorant doth for a deare yeare : 
yet commonly he spends that revenue before he 
receives it. 

At meales, he sits in as great state over his penny- 
commons, as ever Vitellius did at his greatest ban- 
quet : and takes great delight in comparing his fare 
to my Lord Mayors. 


If he be a leader of a faction, he thinks himselfe 
greater than ever Ccesar was, or the Twice at this 
day is. And lie had rather lose an inheritance then 
an office, when he stands for it. 

If he be to travell, he is longer furnishing him- 
selfe for a five miles journey, then a ship is rigging 
for a seven yeares voyage. He is never more 
troubled, then when bee is to maintaine talke with a 
gentle-woman : wherein bee commits more absurdi- 
ties, than a clown in eating of an egge. 

He thinkes himselfe as fine when he is in a cleane 
band, and a new paire of shooes, as any courtier 
doth, when he is first in a new-fashion. 

Lastly, he is one that respects no man in the 
University, and is respected by no man out of it. 

A worthy Commander in the Warres 

;S one, that accounts learning the nourisb- 
ment of military vertue, and laies that 
as his first foundation. He never 
bloudies his sword but in heat of battel ; and had 
rather save one of his own souldiers, then kill ten 
of his enemies. He accounts it an idle, vaine- 
glorious, and suspected bounty, to be full of good 
words ; his rewarding therefore of the deserver 
arrives so timely, that his liberality can never be 


said to be gouty-handed. He holds it next his 
creed, that no coward can be an honest man, and 
dare die in't. He doth not thinke his body yeelds a 
more spreading shadow after a victory then before ; 
and when he looks upon his enemies dead body, 'tis 
with a kind of noble heavines, not insultation ; he is 
so honourably merciful] to women in surprizall, that 
onely that makes him an excellent courtier. He 
knowes, the hazard of battels, not the pompe of 
ceremonies, are souldiers best theaters, and strives 
to gaine reputation, not by the multitude, but by the 
greatnes of his actions. He is the first in giving 
the charge, and the last in retiring his foot. Equall 
toyle hee endures with the common souldier : from 
his example they all take fire, as one torch lights 
many. He understands in warre, there is no meane 
to erre twice ; the first, and least faidt being suf- 
ficient to mine an army : faults therefore he pardons 
none ; they that are presidents of disorder, or 
mutiny, repaire it by being examples of his justice. 
Besiege him never so strictly, so long as the ayre is 
not cut from him, his heart faints not. Hee hath 
learned as well to make use of a victory, as to get 
it, and in pursuing his enemie like a whirle-wind 
carries all afore him ; being assured, if ever a man 
will benefit himselfe upon his foe, then is the time, 
when they have lost force, wisdome, courage, and 
reputation. The goodnes of his cause is the special! 


motive to his valour ; never is he known e to slight 
the weak'st enemy that comes arm'd against him in 
the hand of justice. Hasty and overmuch heat he 
accounts the step-dame to all great actions, that will 
not suffer them to thrive : if he cannot overcome his 
enemy hy force, he does it hy time. If ever he 
shake hands with war, he can die more calmly then 
most courtiers, for his continual! dangers have beene 
as it were so many meditations of death ; he thinkes 
not out of his owne calling, when he accounts life a 
continuall warfare, and his prayers then best become 
him when armed cap ape. Hee utters them like the 
great Hebrew general!, on horseback. He casts a 
smiling contempt upon calumny, it meets him as if 
cjlasse should encounter adamant. He thinks warre 
is never to be given ore, but on one of these three 
conditions : an assured peace, absolute victory, or an 
honest death. Lastly, when peace folds him up, his 
silver head should lean neere the golden scepter, and 
dye in his princes bosome. 

A vaine-glorious Coward in Command 

\ S one, that hath bought his place, or come 
to it by some noble-mans letter : he loves 
a life dead payes, yet wishes they may 
rather happen in his company by the scurvy, then 


by a battell. View him at a muster, and he goes 
with such noise, as if his body were the wheele- 
barrow that carried his judgement rumbling to thill 
his souldiers. No man can worse define betweene 
pride and noble courtesie : he that salutes him not 
so farre as a pistoll carries levell, gives him the 
disgust or affront, chuse you whether. lice traines 
by the booke, and reckons so many postures of the 
pike and musket, as if he were counting at noddy. 
When he comes at first upon a camisado, he lookes 
like the foure winds in painting, as if bee Avould blow 
away the enemy ; but at the very first on-set, suffers 
feare and trembling to dresse themselves in his face 
apparantly. He scornes any man should take place 
before him : yet at the entring of a breach, he hath 
been so humble-minded, as to let his lieutenant lead 
his troopes for him. He is so sure arm'd for taking 
hurt, that he seldome does any : and while he is 
putting on his amies, he is thinking what summe 
he can make to satisfie his ransome. He will raile 
openly against all the great commanders of the 
adverse party ; yet in his owne conscience allowes 
them for better men : such is the nature of bis feare, 
that contrary to all other filthy qualities it makes 
him thinke better of another man then himselfe. 
The first part of him that is set a running, is his 
eye-sight : when that is once struck with terrour, 
all the costive physiclce in the world cannot stay him ; 


if ever he do any thing beyond his owne heart, 'tis 
for a knighthood, and he is the first kneeles for't 
without bidding. 

A Pyrate 


iRULY defined, is a hold traytor ; for 
he fortifies a castle against the king. 
J&^l Give him sea-roome in never so small a 
vessell, and like a witch in a sieve, you would thinke 
he were going to make merry with the devill. Of 
all callings his is the most desperate, for he will not 
leave off his theeving, though he be in a narrow 
prison, and looke every day (by tempest or fight) 
for execution. He is one plague the devill hath 
added, to make the sea more terrible then a storme ; 
and his heart is so hardned in that rugged element, 
that hee cannot repent, though he view his grave 
(before him) continually open : he hath so little 
of his owne, that the house he sleeps in is stoln ; 
all the necessities of life he filches, but one : he 
cannot steale a sound sleep, for his troubled con- 
science. Hee is very gentle to those under him, 
yet his rule is the horriblest tyranny in the world, 
for he gives licence to all rape, murder, and cruelty, 
in his own example : what he gets, is small use to 
him, onely lives by it, (somewhat the longer) to do 
a little more service to his belly; for he throwes 


away his treasure upon the shore in riot, as if he 
cast it into the sea. He is a cruell haivlce that flies 
at all hut his owne kind : and as a whale never comes 
a-shore hut when shee is wounded ; so he very 
seldome, hut for his necessities. Hee is the mer- 
chants book, that serves onely to reckon up his losses ; 
a perpetuall plague to noble traffique, the hv/ricom 
of the sea, and the earth-quake of the exchange. 
Yet for all this give him but his pardon, and for- 
give him restitution, he may live to know the inside 
of a church, and die on this side Wapping. 

An ordinarie Fencer 

;S a fellow, that beside shaving of cudgels, 
hath a good insight into the world, for hee 
hath long beene beaten to it. Flesh 
and bloud he is, like other men ; but surely nature 
meant him stockfish : his, and a dancing-schoole, 
are inseparable adjuncts ; and are bound, though 
both stinke of sweat most abominable, neither 
shall complaine of annoyance : three large bavins 
set up his trade, with a bench, which (in the vacation 
of the afternoone) he uses for his day-bed : for a 
firkin to pisse in, he shall be allowed that, by those 
make Allom : when hee comes on the stage at his 
prize, he makes a legge seven several! wayes, and 


scrambles for mony, as if he had beene borne at the 
Bathe in Somersetshire : at his challenge he shewes 
his metall ; for contrary to all rules ofphysick, he 
dares bleed, though it be in the dog-dayes : he 
teaches devilish play in's schoole, but when he fights 
himselfe, hee doth it in the feare of a good chris- 
tian . lie compounds quarrels among his schollers, and 
when he hath brought the busincsse to a good upshot, 
he makes the reckoning. His wounds are seldome 
above skin-deepe ; for an inward bruise, lambstones 
and sweet-breads are his onely sperma ceti, which 
he eats at night, next his heart fasting : strange 
schoole-masters they are, that every day set a man 
as far backward as he went forward : and throwing 
him into a strange posture, teach him to thresh 
satisfaction out of injury. One signe of a good 
nature is, that hee is still open brested to his friends : 
for his foile, and his doublet, weare not out above 
two buttons, and resolute hee is, for he so much 
scorns to take blowes, that he never weares cuffes ; 
and he lives better contented with a little, then other 
men ; for if he have two eyes in's head, he thinkes 
nature hath overdone him. The Lord Mayors 
triumph makes him a man, for that's his best time 
to flourish. Lastly, these fencers are such things, 
that care not if all the world were ignorant of more 
letters then onely to read their patent. 


A Puny-Clarke. 

I EE is tane from yrammar-schoole half e 
codled, and can hardly shake off his 
dreames of breeching in a twelve month. 
Hee is a farmers sonne, and his fathers utmost 
ambition is to make him an atturney. He doth itch 
towards a poet, and greases his breeches extremely 
with feeding without a napkin. He studies false dice 
to cheat costermongers, and is most chargeable to the 
butler of some Inne of Chancery, for pissing in their 
green-pots. Hee eats ginger -bread at a play-house ; 
and is so sawcy, that he ventures fairly for a broken 
pate at the banquetting house, and hath it. Hee 
would never come to have any wit, but for a long 
vacation, for that makes him bethinke him how hee 
shall shift another day. Hee prayes hotly against 
fasting ; and so hee may sup well on Friday nights, 
he cares not though his master be a Puritane. He 
practises to make the words in his declaration spread, 
as a sewer doth the dishes at a niggards table ; a 
clarke of a swooping dash, is as commendable as a 
Flanders horse of a large taile. Though you be 
never so much delay 'd, you must not call his master 
knave ; that makes him goe beyond himselfe, and 
write a challenge in court-hand ; for it may be his 
own another day. These are some eertaine of his 


liberall faculties : but in the tearme time, his clog 
is a buckrom bag. Lastly, which is great pitty, he 
never comes to his full growth, with bearing on his 
shoulder the sinfull burthen of his master at several! 
courts in Westminster. 

A Foote-man. 

>ET him bee never so well made, yet his 
legs are not matches, for hee is still 
setting the best foot forward. Hee will 
never be a staid man, for he has had a running 
head of his own, ever since his child-hood. His 
mother (which out of question, was a light-beel'd 
wench) knew it, yet let him run his race ; thinking- 
age would reclaime him from his wild courses. He 
is very long winded ; and, without doubt, but that 
he hates naturally to serve on horse-backe, he had 
proved an excellent trumpet. He has one happinesse 
above all the rest of the servingmen : for when he 
most over-reaches his master, he is best thought of. 
He lives more by his owne heat then the warmth of 
clothes ; and the waiting-woman hath the greatest 
fancy to him, when hee is in his close trouses. Gards 
hee weares none ; which makes him live more 
upright than any crosse-gartered gentleman-usher. 
Tis impossible to draw his picture to the life, cause 
a man must take it as he's running: only this, 


horses are usually let bloud on S. Stevens clay : on 
S. Patricks he takes rest, and is drencht for all the 
yeare after. 

A Noble and retired House-keeper 

; S one whose bounty is limitted by reason, 
not ostentation : and to make it last, he 
deales it discreetly, as wee sow the fur- 
row, not by the sacke, but by the handfull. His 
word and his meaning never shake hands and part, 
but alway goe together. He can survay good, and 
love it, and loves to doe it himselfe, for its owne sake, 
not for thankes. Hee knowes there is no such 
misery as to outlive good name, nor no such folly as 
to put it in practice. His mind is so secure, that 
thunder rockes him asleepe, which breakes other 
mens slumbers. Nobility lightens in his eyes ; and in 
his face and gesture is painted, The God of Hospi- 
tality. His great houses beare in their front more 
durance, then state ; unlesse this adde the greater 
state to them, that they promise to out-last much of 
our new phantasticall building. His heart never 
growes old, no more then his memory : whether at 
his booke or on horsebacke, hee passeth his time in 
such noble exercise, a man cannot say, any time is 
lost by him : nor hath he onely yeares, to approve he 
hath lived till he be old, but vertues. His thoughts 


have a high (time, though their dwelling hee in the 
vale of an humble heart, whence as by an engine 
(that raises water to fall, that it may rise the higher) 
he is heightned in his humility. The adamant 
serves not for all seas, but his doth ; for he hath, 
as it were, put a gird about the whole world, and 
found all her quicke-sands. He hath this hand over 
Fortune, that her injuries, how violent or sudden 
soever, they do not daunt him ; for whether his time 
call him to live or die, he can doe both nobly : if to 
fall, his descent is brest to brest with vertue ; and 
even then, like the sunne neere his set, hee shewes 
unto the world his cleerest countenance. 

An Intruder into favour 

^S one, that builds his reputation on others 
infamy : for slander is most commonly 
his morning prayer. His passions are 
guided by pride, and followed by injustice. An 
inflexible anger against some poore sutor, he falsly 
cals a couragious constancie, and thinkes the best part 
of gravity to consist in a ruffled forehead. He is 
the most slavishly submisse, though envious to those 
that are in better place then himselfe ; and knowes 
the art of words so well, that (for shrowding dis- 
honesty under a faire pretext) he seems to preserve 


mud in chrystall. Like a man of a kind nature, he 
is the first good to himselfe ; in the next file, to his 
French taylor, that gives him all his perfection : for 
indeed, like an estridge, or bird of paradise, his 
feathers are more worth then his body. If ever he 
doe good deed (which is very seldome) his owne 
mouth is the chronicle of it, lest it should die for- 
gotten. His whole body goes all upon srewes, and 
his face is the vice that moves them. If his patron 
be given to musicke, he opens his chops, and sings, 
or with a wrie necke, fals to tuning his instrument : 
if that faile, he takes the height of his lord with a 
hawking pole. He followes the mans fortune, not 
the man : seeking thereby to increase his owne. He 
pretends he is most undeservedly envied, and cries 
out, remembering the game, chesse, that a pawne 
before a king is most playd on. Debts hee owes 
none, but shrewd turns, and those he payes ere he be 
sued. He is a flattering glasse to conceale age, and 
wrinkles. He is mountaines monhie, that climbing 
a tree, and skipping from bough to bough, gives 
you backe his face ; but come once to the top, he 
holds his nose up into the wind, and shewes you his 
tayle : yet all this gay glitter, shewes on him, as if 
the sunne shone in a puddle ; for he is a small wine 
that will not last ; and when he is falling, hee goes 
of himselfe faster than misery can drive him. 


A f aire and happy Milk-may d 

t S a countrey wench, that is so farre from 
making her selfe beautifull by art, that 
one looke of hers is able to put all face- 
physiclce out of countenance. She knowes a faire 
looke is but a dv/rribe orator to commend vertue, 
therefore minds it not. All her excellencies stand 
in her so silently, as if they had stolne upon her 
without her knowledge. The lining of her apparell 
(which is her selfe) is farre better then out sides of 
tissew : for though she be not arrayed in the spoile 
of the silhe-worme, shee is deckt in innocency, a far 
better wearing. She doth not, with lying long abed, 
spoile both her complexion and conditions ; nature 
hath taught her, too immoderate sleepe is rust to the 
soide : she rises therefore with chaunticleare, her 
dames cock, and at night makes the Jamb her courfew. 
In milking a cow, and straining the teats through 
her fingers, it seemes that so sweet a milk-presse 
makes the milk the whiter or sweeter ; for never 
came almond glove or aromatique oyntment on her 
palme to taint it. The golden eares of corne fall and 
kisse her feet when shee reapes them, as if they 
wisht to be bound and led prisoners by the same 
hand that fell'd them. Her breath is her own, which 
sents all the yeare long of June, like a new made 


hay-cock. She makes her hand hard with labour, 
and her heart soft with pitty : and when winter 
evenings fall early (sitting at her merry wheele) she 
sings a defiance to the giddy ivJieele of fortune. 
She doth all things with so sweet a grace, it seems 
■ignorance will not suffer her to doe ill, being her 
mind is to doe well. She bestowes her yeares wages 
at next faire ; and in choosing her garments, counts 
no bravery i'tlv world, like decencie. The garden 
and bee-hive are all her physick and chyrurgery, 
and she lives the longer for't. She dares goe alone, 
and unfold sheepe i'th' night, and feares no manner 
of ill, because she meanes none : yet to say truth, 
she is never alone, for she is still accompanied with 
old songs, honest thoughts, and prayers, but short 
ones ; yet they have their efficacy, in that they are 
not pauled with insuing idle cogitations. Lastly, 
her dreames are so chaste, that shee dare tell them ; 
only a Fridaies dream is all her superstition : that 
she conceales for feare of anger. Thus lives she, 
and all her care is she may die in the spring-time, 
to have store of flowers stucke upon her winding- 


An arrant Horse-courser 

)ATH the trick to blow up horse-flesh, as 
the butcher doth veale, which shall wash 
P out again in twice riding twixt Waltham 
and London. The trade of spurre-making had de- 
cayed long since, but for this ungodly tyre-man. He 
is curst all over the foure ancient high-wayes of 
England ; none but the blind men that sell switches 
i'th' road are beholding to him. His stable is fill'd 
with so many diseases, one would thinke most part 
about Smithfield were an hospitall for horses, or a 
slaughter-house for the common-hunt. Let him 
furnish you with a hackney, 'tis as much as if the 
kings warrant overtooke you within ten miles to stay 
your journey. And though a man cannot say, he 
couzens you directly ; yet any ostler within ten miles, 
should he be brought upon his book-oath, will affirme 
he hath laid a bayt for you. Resolve when you first 
stretch your selfe in the stirrops, you are put as it 
were upon some usurer, that will never beare with 
you past his day. He were good to make one that 
had the collick alight often, and (if example will 
cause him) make mine ; let him onely for that say, 
Gra f mercy horse. For his sale of horses, bee hath 
false covers for all manner of diseases, onely comes 
short of one thing (which he despaires not utterly to 


bring to perfection) to make a horse goe on a wodden 
leg and two crutches. For powdring his eares with 
quicksilver, and giving him suppositories of live 
eeles he's expert. All the while you are a cheap- 
ning, he fears you will not bite ; but hee laughs in 
his sleeve, when he hath coozened you in earnest. 
Frenchmen are his best chapmen, he keeps-amblers 
for them on purpose, and knowes he can deceive 
them very easily. Hee is so constant to his trade, 
that while hee is awake, he tires any man he talkes 
with, and when he's asleep, he dreams very fear- 
fully of the paving of Smithfield, for hee knowes it 
would founder his occupation. 

A Roaring Boy. 

|IS life is a meere counterfet patent : 
which neverthelesse makes many a coun- 
trey justice tremble. Don Quixotes wa- 
ter-mills are still scotch bagpipes to him. He sends 
challenges by word of mouth : for he protests (as he 
is a gentleman and a brother of the sword) he can 
neither write nor read. He hath runne through 
divers parcels of land, and great houses, beside both 
the counters. If any private quarrell happen among 
our great courtiers, he proclaimes the businesse, 
that's the word, the businesse ; as if the united forces 


of the Romish Catholickes were making up for Ger- 
many. He cheats young guls that are newly come 
to towne ; and when the keeper of the Ordinary 
blames him for it, he answers him in his owne pro- 
fession, that a ivoodcocke must be pluckt ere he be 
(best. He is a supervisor to brothels, and in them 
is a more unlawfull reformer of vice, then prentices 
on Shrove -tuesday. He loves his friend, as a coun- 
cellor at law loves the velvet breeches he was first 
made barester in, he'll be sure to weare him thred- 
bare ere he forsake him. He sleepes with a tobac- 
co-pipe in's mouth ; and his first praier i' th' morn- 
ing is, he may remember whom he fell out with over 
night. Souldier he is none, for he cannot distin- 
guish 'tweene onion-seed and gunpowder : if he 
have worne it in his hollow tooth for the toothacb, 
and so come to the knowlege of it, that's all. The 
tenure by which he holds his meanes, is an estate at 
will ; and that's borrowing. Land-lords have but 
foure quarter-dayes ; but he three hundred and 
odde. He keepes very good company ; yet is a 
man of no reckoning : and when he goes not drunk 
to bed, he is very sick next morning. He com- 
monly dies like Anacreon, with a grape in's throat ; 
or Hercules, with fire in's marrow. And I have 
heard of some (that have scap't hanging) begg'd for 
Anatomies; only to deterre man from taking to- 


A Drunken Dutchman resident in 

|S but a quarter-master with his wife, 
Hee stinkes of butter, as if hee were 
anointed all over for the itch. Let him 
come over never so leane, and plant him but one 
moneth neere the brew-houses in S. Catherines, 
and he'l bee puft up to your hand like a bloat her- 
ring. Of all places of pleasure, he loves a common 
garden, and (with the swine of the parish) had need 
bee ringed for rooting. Next to these he effects 
lotteries naturally ; and bequeaths the best prize in 
his will aforehand ; when his hopes fall, he's blanke. 
They swarme in great tenements like flies : si.xo 
households will live in a garret. He was wont 
(onely to make us fooles) to buy the fox-skin for 
three pence, and sell the taile for a shilling. Now 
his new trade of brewing strong-waters makes a 
number of mad-men. He loves a Welshman ex- 
tremely for his diet and orthography ; that is, for 
plurality of consonants, and cheese. Like a horse, 
he's onely guided by the mouth : when he's drunke, 
you may thrust your hand into him like an eeleskin, 
and strip him, his inside outwards. He hoordes up 
faire gold, and pretends 'tis to seethe in his wives 
broth for a consumption, and loves the memory of 


King Henry the 8. most especially for his old 
Soveraignes. He saies we are unwise to lament 
the decay of timber in England : for all manner of 
buildings or fortification whatsoever, he desires no 
other thing in the world, than barrels and hop-poles. 
To conclude, the only two plagues he trembles at, is 
small beere, and the Spanish Inquisition. 


An Improvident young Gallant. 
*£*& HERE is a confederacy between him and 

his clothes, to be made a puppy : view 
him well, and you'll say his gentry sits 
as ill upon him, as if he had bought it with his 
penny. He hath more places to send money to, 
than the devill hath to send his spirits ; and to fur- 
nish each mistresse, would make him run besides 
his wits, if he had any to lose. He accounts bash- 
fulnesse the wickedst thing in the world ; and there- 
fore studies impudence. If all men were of his 
mind, all honesty would be out of fashion : he 
withers his clothes on a stage, as a sale-man is forc't 
to doe his sutes in Birchin-lane ; and when the 


play is done, if you marke his rising, 'tis with a 
kind of walking epilogue between the two candles, 
to know if his suit may passe for currant : hee 
studies by the discretion of his barber, to frizle like 
a baboone : three such would keep three the nim- 
blest barbers in the town, from ever having leisure 
to weare net-garters : for when they have to doe 
with him, they have many irons in th' fire. He is 
travelled, but to little purpose ; only went over for 
a squirt, and came back againe, yet never the more 
mended in his conditions, 'cause he carried himselfe 
along with him : a scholler he pretends himselfe 
and saies he hath sweat for it : but the truth is, he 
knowes Cornelius far better than Tacitus: his 
ordinary sports are cock-fights : but the most fre- 
quent, horse-races, from whence hee comes home 
dry-foundred. Thus when his purse hath cast her 
calfe, he goes downe into the country, where hee is 
brought to milke and white cheese like the Switzers. 

A Button-maker of Amsterdam 

| S one that is fled over from his conscience ; 
and left his wife and children upon the 
parish. For his knowledge, he is meere- 
ly a home-book without a christ-crosse afore it : 
and his zeale consists much in hanging his bible in a 


Dutch button : he coozens men in the purity of his 
clothes : and 'twas his only joy when he was on this 
side, to be in prison : hee cries out, 'Tis impossible 
for any man to be damn'd, that lives in his religion, 
and his equivocation is true : as long as a man lives 
in't, he cannot ; but if he die in't, there's the ques- 
tion. Of all feasts in the yeare, he accounts S. 
Georges feast the prophanest, because of S. Georges 
crosse, yet somtimes he doth sacrifice to his own 
belly ; provided, that hee put off the wake of his 
owne nativity, or wedding, till Good Friday. If 
there be a great feast in the towne, though most of 
the wicked (as he cals them) be there, he will be 
sure to bee a guest, and to out-eat six of the fattest 
Burgers : he thinks, though hee may not pray with 
a Jew, he may eat with a Jew : he winkes when he 
prayes, and tbinkes he knowes the way so now to 
heaven, that hee can find it blindfold. Latine he 
accounts the language of the beast with seven heads: 
and when hee speakes of his owne countrey, cries, 
he is fled out of Babel. Lastly, his devotion is 
obstinacy ; the only solace of his heart, contradic- 
tion; and his maine end, hypocrisie. 


A Distaster of the Time 

'S a winter grashopper all the yeare long 
that looks hack upon harvest, with a 
leane paire of cheekes, never sets forward 
to meet it : his malice sucks up the greatest part of 
his owne venome, and therewith impoisoneth him- 
selfe : and this sicknesse rises rather of selfe-opinion a 
or over-great expectation ; so in the conceit of his 
own over-worthinesse, like a coistrell, he strives to 
fill himselfe with wind, and flies against it. Any 
mans advancement is the most capital] offence that 
can be to his malice : yet this envy, like Phalaris 
Bull, makes that a torment, first for himselfe, he 
prepared for others : he is a day-bed for the deviU 
to slumber on ; his bloud is of a yellowish colour ; 
like those that have beene bitten by vipers ; and his 
gaide flowes as thick in him as oyle in a poyson'd 
stomack. He infects all society, as thunder sowres 
wine : war or peace, dearth or plenty, makes him 
equally discontented. And where hee finds no cause 
to tax the state, he descends to raile against the 
rate of salt-butter. His wishes are luhirlewinds ; 
which breath'd forth, returne into himselfe, and 
make him a most giddy and tottering vessell. When 
he is awake, and goes abroad, he doth but walk in 
his sleep, for his visitation is directed to none ; his 


businesse is nothing. He is often dumb-mad, and 
goes fetter'd in bis owne entrailes. Religion is 
commonly bis pretence of discontent, though he can 
be of all religions ; therefore truly of none. Thus 
by unnaturalizing himselfe, some would thinke him 
a very dangerous fellow to the state, but he is not 
greatly to be fear'd : for this dejection of his, is only 
like a rogue that goes on his knees and elbowes in 
the mire, to further his begging. 

A meere felloiv of an House 

i X AMINES all mens carriage but his 
own ; and is so kind-natured to him- 
selfe, he finds fault with all mens but his 
owne. He weares his apparell much after the 
fashion ; his meanes will not suffer him come too 
nigh : they afford him mochvelvet, or satinisco ; but 
not without the colleges next leases acquaintance : 
his inside is of the selfe-same fashion, not rich : but 
as it reflects from the glasse of selfe-liking, there 
Croesus is Irus to him. He is a pedant in shew, 
though his title be tutor; and his pupils, in 
broader phrase, are sclioole-boyes. On these he 
spends the false gallop of his tongue ; and with 
senselesse discourse towes them along, not out of 
ignorance. He shewes them the rind, conceales the 


sap : by this meanes he keeps them the longer, him- 
sclfe the better. He hath learnt to cough, and spit, 
and blow his nose at every period, to recover his 
memory : and studies ehiefely to set his eyes and 
beard to a new forme of learning. His religion lies 
in waite for the inclination of his patron ; neither 
ebs nor flowes, but just standing water, betweene 
Protestant and Puritane. His dreanies are of 
plurality of benefices and non-residency ; and when 
he rises, acts a long grace to his looking glasse. 
Against he comes to be some great mans chaplaine, 
he hath a habit of boldnesse, though a very coward. 
He speakes swords, fights, ergo's : his pace on foot 
is a measure ; on horse-back a gallop : for his legs 
are his owne, though horse and spurres are borrowed. 
He hath lesse use then possession of books. He is 
not so proud, but he will call the meanest author by 
his name : nor so unskilled in the herauldry of a 
study, but he knowes each mans place. So ends 
that fellowship, and begins another. 

A meere Pettyfogger 

[S one of Sampson's foxes ; he sets men 
together by the eares, more shamefullv 
then pillories ; and in a long vacation 
his sport is to goe a fishing with the penall statutes. 


He cannot erre before judgment, and then you see 
it, only writs of error are the tariers that keepe his 
client undoing somewhat the longer. He is a vestry- 
man in his parish, and easily sets his neighbour at 
variance with the vicar, when his wicked counsell on 
both sides is like weapons put into mens hands by a 
fencer, whereby they get blowes, he money. His 
honesty aud learning bring liim to under-sh rive- 
ship, which having thrice runne through, he doe's 
not feare the lieutenant o'th' shire : nay more, he 
feares not God. Cowardise holds him a good com- 
monwealths man ; his pen is the plough, and parch- 
ment the soyle, whence he reapes both coyne and 
curses. Hee is an earthquake, that willingly will 
let no ground lye in quiet. Broken titles make him 
whole ; to have halfe in the county break their bonds, 
were the only liberty of conscience. He would wish 
(though he be a broivnist) no neighbour of bis should 
pay his tithes duly, if such suits held continuall plea 
at Westminster. He cannot away with the reverend 
service in our church, because it ends with The peace 
of God. He loves blowes extremely, and hath his 
chirur<jians bill of all rates, from head to foot, to 
incense the fury : he would not give away his yearely 
beatings for a good peece of mony. He makes his 
will in forme of a law case, full of quiddits, that his 
friends after his death (if for nothing else, yet) for 
the vexation of law, may have cause to remember 


him. And if he thought the ghosts of men did 
walke againe (as they report in time of popery) sure 
lie would hide some single money in Westminster - 
hall, that his spirit might haunt there. Only with 
this. I will pitch him o're the bar, and leave him, 
that his fingers itch after a bribe, ever since his first 
practising of court-hand. 

An Ingrosser of Come. 

i HERE is no vermine in the land like 
him, he slanders both heaven and earth 
with pretended dearths, when there's no 
cause of scarcity. His hoording in a deere yeare, 
is like Erisicthons bowels in Ovid : Quodque urbibus 
esse; quodque satis poterat popido, non sitffieit uni. 
Hee prayes daily for more inclosures, and knowes 
no reason in his religion, why we should call our 
forefathers dayes, the time of ignorance, but onely 
because they sold wheate for twelve pence a bushel!. 
He wishes that BansTce were at the Moloccos ; and 
had rather be certaine of some forraine invasion, 
then of the setting up of the stilyard. When his 
barnes and garners are full (if it be a time of 
dearth) he will buy halfe a bushell i'th' market to 
serve his houshold : and winnowes his corne in the 
night, lest, as the chaffe throwne upon the water, 


shew'd plenty in Egypt ; so his (carried by the 
wind) should proclaime his abundance. No painting- 
pleases him so well, as Pharaohs dreame of the seven 
leane kino, that ate up the fat ones ; that he has in 
his parlour, which he will describe to you like a 
motion, and his comment ends with a smothered 
prayer for the like scarcity. lie cannot away with 
tobacco ; for he is pcrswaded (and not much amisse) 
that 'tis a sparer of bread-corne ; which he could 
find in's heart to transport without licence : but 
weighing the penalty, he growes mealy-mouth'd, and 
dares not. Sweet smels he cannot abide ; wishes 
that the pure aire were generally corrupted : nay, 
that the spring had lost her fragrancy for ever, or 
we our supei-fluous sense of smelling, (as he tearmes 
it) that his corne might not be found musty. The 
poore he accounts the justices intelligencers, and 
cannot abide them : he complaines of our negligence 
of discovering new parts of the world, onely to rid 
them from our climate. His sone, by a certaine 
kind of instinct, he binds prentice to a taylor, who 
all the terme of his indenture, hath a deare yeare 
in's belly, and ravins bread extremely : when he 
comes to be a freeman (if it be a dearth) he marries 
him to a bakers daughter. 


A Devillish Usurer 

^S sowed as cummin or hemp-seed, with 
curses ; and lie thinkes he thrives the 
hetter. He is far hetter read in the 
pcenall statutes, then the Bible ; and his evill angell 
perswades him, he shall sooner bee saved by them. 
He can bee no mans friend ; for all men he hath 
most interest in, hee undoes : and a double-dealer 
hee is certainly ; for by his good will, he ever takes 
the forfeit. He puts his mony to the unnatural 
act of generation ; and his scriv'ner is the super- 
visor bawd to't. Good deeds hee loves none, but 
seal'd and delivered : nor doth he wish any thing 
to thrive in the country, but bee-hives ; for they 
make him wax rich. He hates all but law-latine, 
yet thinks he might be drawne to love a scholler, 
coidd hee reduce the yeare to a shorter compasse, 
that his use-money might come in the faster. He 
seemes to be the sonne of a jaylor, for all his estate 
is in most heavy and cruell bonds. Hee doth not 
give, but sell daies of payment, and those at the rate 
of a mans undoing : he doth onely feare the day of 
judgement should fall sooner, then the paiment of 
some great sum of money due to him : he removes 
his lodjnno; when a subsidie comes ; and if he be 
found out, and pay it, he grumbles treason ; but 'tis 


in such a deformed silence, as witches raise then- 
spirits in. Gravity he pretends in all things, hut in 
his private whore ; for he will not in a hundred 
pound take one light sixe pence ; and it seemes hee 
was at Tilbury Campe ; for you must not tell him 
of a Spaniard. He is a man of no conscience ; for 
(like the Jakes-farmer that swounded with going 
into Bucklershiuy) hee falls into a cold sweat, if hee 
but looke into the Chauncerie : thinkes in his reli- 
gion, we are in the right for every thing, if that 
were abolisht : hee hides his mony as if hee thought 
to find it againe at the last day, and then hegin's 
old trade with it. His clothes plead prescription ; 
and whether they or his body are more rotten, is a 
question : yet shoidd hee live to be hang'd in them, 
this good they would doe him, the very hangman 
would pity his case. The table he keepes is able 
to starve twenty tall men ; his servants have not 
their living, but their dying from him, and that's of 
hunger. A spare diet he commends in all men, but 
himselfe : he comes to cathedrals only for love of 
the singing-boyes, because they looke hungry. He 
likes our religion best, because 'tis best cheape ; yet 
would faine allow of purgatory, cause 'twas of his 
trade, and brought in so much money : his heart 
goes with the same snaphance his purse doth, 'tis 
seldome open to any man : friendship he accounts 
but a word without any signification ; nay, he loves 


all the world so little, that, and it Avere possible, he 
would make himselfe his owne executor : for cer- 
taine, he is made administrator to his owne good 
name, while he is in perfect memory, for that d} r es 
long afore him ; but he i.s so far from being at the 
charge of a funeral] for it, that he lets it stinke 
above ground. In conclusion, for neighbourhood, 
you were better dwell by a contentious lawyer. And 
for his death, 'tis either surfet, the pox, or despaire ; 
for seldome such as he die of Gods making, as 
honest men should doe. 

A Water-man 

<S one that hath learnt to speak well of 
himselfe ; for alwaies he names himselfe, 
the first man. If he had betane himselfe 
to some richer trade, he coidd not have choos'd but 
done well : for in this (though it be a meane one) 
he is still plying it, and putting himselfe forward. 
He is evermore telling strange newes, most com- 
monly lyes. If he be a sculler, aske him if he be 
married, he'l equivocate and sweare he's a single 
man. Little trust is to be given to him, for he 
thinks that day he does best, when he fetches most 
men over. His daily labour teaches him the art of 
dissembling : for like a fellow that rides to the pil- 


lory, he goes not that way he lookes : he keeps such 
a bawling at Westminster, that if the lawyers were 
not acquainted with it, an order would be tane with 
him. When he is upon the water, he is fare-com- 
pany : when he comes ashore, he mutinies, and 
contrary to all other trades, is most surly to gentle- 
men, when they tender payment : the play-houses 
only keep him sober ; and as it doth many other 
gallants, make him an after-noones man. London- 
bridge is the most terrible eye-sore to him that can 
be. And to conclude, nothing but a great presse, 
makes him flye from the river ; nor any thing, but 
a great frost, can teach him any good manners. 

A Reverend Judge 

S one that desires to have his greatnes, 
only measur'd by his goodnes : his care 
is to appeare such to the people, as bee 
would have them be ; and to be himselfe such as he 
appeares ; for vertue cannot seeme one thing, and be 
another : he knowes that the hill of greatnesse yeelds 
a most delightful] prospect ; but withall, that it is 
most subject to lightning, and thunder : and that 
the people, as in ancient tragedies, sit and censure 
the actions of those in authority : he squares his 
own therefore, that they may farre be above their 


pitty : he wishes fewer laws, so they were better ob- 
served : and for those are muletuary, he understands 
their institution not to be like briers or springes, to 
catch every thing they lay hold of; but like sea- 
markea (on our dangerous Goodwin) to avoid the 
shipwrack of ignorant passengers : he hates to wrong 
any man ; neither hope, nor despaire of preferment 
can draw him to such an exigent : bee thinks him- 
selfe then most honourably seated, when hee gives 
mercy the upper hand : he rather strives to purchase 
good name, then land ; and of all rich stuffes for- 
bidden by the statute, loathes to have his followers 
weare their clothes cut out of bribes and extortions. 
If bis Prince call him to higher place, there he de- 
livers his mind plainely, and freely, knowing for 
truth, there is no place wherein dissembling ought 
to have lesse credit, then in a Princes Councell. 
Thus honor keeps peace with him to the grave, and 
doth not (as with many) there forsake him, and goe 
back with the Heralds : but fairely sits ore him, 
and broods out of his memory, many right excellent 
common-wealths men. 


A vertuous Widdow 

;S the palme-tree, that thrives not after 
the supplanting of her husband. For 
her childrens sake she first marries, for 
she married that she might have children, and for 
their sakes she marries no more. She is like the 
purest gold, only imployed for princes medals, shee 
never receives but one mans impression ; the large 
joynture moves her not, titles of honour cannot sway 
her. To change her name, were (she thinkes) to 
commit a sinne should make her asham'd of her 
husbands calling. She thinks she hath travel'd all 
the world in one man ; the rest of her time therefore 
she directs to heaven. Her maine superstition is, 
she thinks her husbands ghost would walk, should 
she not performe his will : she would doe it, were 
there no prerogative court. She gives much to pious 
uses, without any hope to merit by them : and as 
one diamond fashions another, so is she wrought into 
workes of charity, with the dust or ashes of her 
husband. She lives to see her selfe full of time ; 
being so necessary for earth, God cals her not to 
heaven, till shee be very aged : and even then, 
though her naturall strength faile her, she stands 
like an ancient pyramid; which the lesse it grows 
to mans eye, the neerer it reaches to heaven. This 


latter chastity of hers, is more grave and reverend, 
than that ere slice was maried ; for in it, is neither 
hope, nor longing, nor feare, nor jealousie. She 
ought to he a mirronr for our yongest dames to dresse 
themselves by, when she is fullest of wrinkles. No 
calamity can now come neere her ; for in suffering 
the losse of her husband, she accounts all the rest 
trifles. She hath laid his dead body in the worthiest 
monument that can be : she hath buried it in her 
owne heart. To conclude, she is a relique, that 
without any superstition in the world, though she 
will not be kist, yet may be reverenc't. 

An ordinary Widdow 

;S like the heraulds hearse-cloth ; she 
serves to many funerals, with a very 
little altering the colour. The end of 
her husband begins in teares ; and the end of her 
teares begins in a husband. Shee uses to cunning 
women to know how many husbands she shall have, 
and never marries without the consent of six midwives. 
Her chiefest pride is in the multitude of her suitors ; 
and by them she gaines : for one serves to draw on 
another, and with one at last she shoots out another, 
as boyes doe pellets in elderne guns. She commends 
to them a single life, as horse -coursers doe their 


jades, to put them away. Her fancy is to one of 
the biggest of the guard, but knighthood makes her 
draw in a weaker bow. Her servants or kinsfolke, 
are the trumpeters that summon any to this combat ; 
by them she games much credit, but loseth it againe 
in the old proverbe : fama est mendax. If she live 
to be thrice married, she seldome failes to coozen her 
second husbands creditors. A churchman she dare 
not venture upon ; for she hath heard widowes com- 
plain of dilapidations : nor a souldier, though he 
have candle-rents in the citie, for his estate may be 
subject to fire : very seldome a lawyer, without he 
shewes his exceeding great practice, and can make 
her case the better : but a knight with the old rent 
may do much, for a great comming in is all in all 
with a widow : ever provided, that most part of her 
plate and jewels (before the wedding) lye conceal'd 
with her scrivener. Thus like a too-ripe apple, she 
falls off her selfe : but he that hath her, is lord but 
of a filthy purchase, for the title is crack't. Lastly, 
while she is a widdow, observe her, she is no morning 
woman : the evening, a good fire, and sacke, may 
make her listen to a husband : and if ever she be 
made sure, 'tis upon a full stomack to bed-ward. 


A Quacksalver 

S a mountebank of a larger bill then a 
taylor ; if he can but come by names 
enow of diseases to stuffe it with, 'tis 
all the skill he studies for. lie tooke his first be- 
ing from a cunning woman, and stole this black art 
from her, while bee made her sea-coale fire. All the 
diseases ever sin brought upon man, doth he pre- 
tend to be a curer of; when the truth is, his maine 
cunning is corn-cutting. A great plague makes 
him, what with rayling against such, as leave their 
cures for feare of infection, and in friendly breaking 
cake-bread, with the fish-wives at funerals, he utters 
a most abominable deale of musty carduiis-ivater, 
and the conduits cry out, all the learned doctors may 
cast their caps at him. He parts stakes with some 
apothecary in the suburbs, at whose house he lies : 
and though he be never so familiar with his wife, the 
apothecary dares not (for the richest borne in his 
shop) displease him. All the midwives in the towne 
are his intelligencers : but nurses and young mer- 
chants wives (that woidd faine conceive with child) 
these are Ins idolaters. He is a more unjust bone- 
setter, then a dice-maker ; hath put out more eyes 
then the small pox ; made more deafe then the cata- 
racts of Nilus ; lamed more then the gout : shrunk 



more sinews then one that makes bowstrings, and 
kikl more idly then tobacco. A magistrate that had 
any way so noble a spirit, as but to love a good horse 
well, would not suffer him to be a farrier : his dis- 
course is vomit, and his ignorance, the strongest 
purgation in the world : to one that would be speedily 
cured, he hath more delayes and doubles, then a 
hare, or a law-suit : he seekes to set us at variance 
with nature, and rather then he shall want diseases, 
hee'l beget them. His especial] practice (as I said 
afore) is upon women ; labours to make their minds 
sick, ere their bodies feele it, and then there's work 
for the dog-leach. He pretends the cure of mad- 
men ; and sure he gets most by them , for no man 
in his perfect wit would meddle with him. Lastly, 
he is such a juggler with urinals, so dangerously 
unskilfull, that if ever the city will have recourse 
to him for diseases that need purgation, let them 
employ him in scouring Moore-ditch, 

A. canting Rogue. 

IS not unlikely but he was begot by some 
intelligencer under a hedge ; for Iris 
mind is wholly given to travel! . Hee 
is not troubled with making of joyntures : he can 
divorce himselfe without the fee of a proctor, nor 


feareshee the cruelty of over-seers of his will. Hee 
leaves his children all the world to cant in, and all 
the people to their fathers. His language is a con- 
stant tongue ; the Northerne speech differs from the 
South, Welsh from the Cornish : but canting is 
generall, nor ever could be altered by conquest of 
the Saxon, Dane, or Norman. He will not beg out 
of bis limit though hee starve ; nor breake his oath 
if hee sweare by his Salomon, though you hang him : 
and hee payes his custome as truly to his grand 
rogue, as tribute is paid to the great Turke. The 
March sunne breeds agues in others, but hee adores 
it like the Indians ; for then begins his progresse 
after a hard winter. Ostlers cannot indure him, 
for hee is of the infantry, and serves best on foot. 
He offends not the statute against the excesse of 
apparell, tor hee will goe naked, and counts it a 
voluntary pennance. Forty of them lye in a barne 
together, yet are never sued upon the statute of 
inmates. If hee were learned, no man could make a 
"better description of England ; for hee hath travel'd 
it over and over. Lastly, he brags, that his great 
houses are repaired to his hands, when churches goe 
to mine : and those are prisons. 


A French Cooke. 

|E learnt his trade in a towne of garrison 
f neere famish't, where hee practised to 
make a little goe fane ; some drive it 
from more antiquity, and say, Adam (when he pickt 
sallcts) was of his occupation. lie doth not feed the 
helly, but the palate ; and though his command lie 
in the kitchin (which is hut an inferiour place) yet 
shall you find him a very sawcy companion. Ever 
since the wars in Naples, he hath so minc't the 
ancient and bountifull allowance, as if his nation 
should keepe a perpetuaU dyet. The servingmen 
call him the last relique of popery, that makes men 
fast against their conscience. He can be truly said 
to be no mans fellow but his masters : for the rest 
of his servants are starved by him. He is the prime 
cause why noblemen build their houses so great : 
for the smalnesse of their kitchin, makes the house 
the bigger : and the lord calls him his alchymist that 
can extract gold out of hearbs, roots, mushroomes, or 
any thing : that which he dresses, we may rather 
call a drinking, then a meale ; yet he is so full of 
variety, that he brags, and truly, that hee gives you 
but a taste of what he can doe : he dare not for his 
life come among the butchers ; for sure they would 
quarter and bake him after the English fashion ; 


hee's such an enemy to beefe and mutton. To con- 
clude, hee were only fit to make a funerall feast, 
where men should eat their victuals in mourning. 

A Sexton 

S an ill-wilier to humane nature. Of all 
proverbs, hee cannot endure to heare 
that which sayes, We ought to live by 
the quick, not by the dead. He could willingly 
all his life time be confinde to the church-yard ; at 
least within five foot on't : for at every church stile, 
commonly ther's an ale-house : where let him be 
found never so idle pated, hee is still a grave 
drunkard. He breaks his fast heartilest while hee 
is making a grave, and sayes, the opening of the 
ground makes him hungry. Though one would 
take him to bee a sloven, yet hee loves cleane linnen 
extremely, and for that reason takes an order that 
fine holland sheetes be not made wormes meat. 
Like a nation called the Cusani, hee weepes when 
any are borne, andlaughes when they die : the reason ; 
he gets by burials, not christnings : he will hold 
argument in a taverne over sack, till the diall and 
himselfe be both at a stand : he never observes any 
time but sermon time, and there hee sleepes by the 
houre-glasse. The rope-maker payes him a pension, 



and hee payes tribute to the physitian ; for the 
physitian makes worke for the sexton, as the rope- 
maker for the hangman. Lastly, hee wishes the 
dog-dayes would last all yeere long : and a great 
plague is his yeere of jubilee. 

A Iesuite 

;S a larger spoone for a traytour to feed 
with the devill, then any other order : 
unclaspe him, and hee's a gray wolfe, 
with a golden starre in the forehead : so supersti- 
tiously he followes the pope, that he forsakes Christ, 
in not giving Ccesar his due. His vowes seeme 
heavenly ; but in meddling with state-businesse, 
he seemes to mix heaven and earth together. His 
best elements, are confession and penance : by the 
first, he finds out mens inclinations ; and by the 
latter, heapes wealth to his seminary. He sprang 
from Ignatius Loyola, a Spanish souldier ; and 
though he were found out long since the invention 
of the canon, 'tis thought hee hath not done lesse 
mischiefe. He is a false key to open princes cabi- 
nets, and pry into their counsels ; and where the 
popes excommunication thunders, he holds it no 
more shine the decrowning of kings, than our Puri- 
tanes doe the suppression of bishops. His order is 


full of irregularitie and disobedience : ambitious 
above all measure ; for of late dajes, in Portugall 
and the Indies, he rejected the name of Jesuite, and 
would be call'd disciple. In Rome, and other countries 
that give him freedome, he weares a maske upon his 
heart ; in England he shifts it, and puts it upon his 
face. No place in our climate hides him so securely 
as a ladies chamber : the modesty of the pursevant 
hath only forborne the bed, and so mist him. There 
is no disease in Christendonie, that may so properly 
be call'd The kings evill. To conclude, would you 
know him beyond sea? In his seminary, hee's a 
fox ; but in the inquisition, a lyon rampant. 

An excellent Actor. 

'HATSOEVEK is commendable to the 
grave orator, is most exquisitely perfect 
in him ; for by a full and significant action 
of body, bee charmes our attention : sit in a full thea- 
ter, and you will thinke you see so many lines drawne 
from the circumference of so many eares, whiles the 
actor is the center. He doth not strive to make 
nature monstrous, she is often seene in the same 
scene with him, but neither on stilts nor crutches ; 
and for his voice, tis not lower then the prompter ; 
not lowder then the foile and target. By his action 


hee fortifies morall precepts with examples ; for 
what wee see him personate, we thinke truly done 
before us : a man of a deepe thought might appre- 
hend, the ghost of our ancient heroes walk't againe, 
and take him (at several times) for many of them. 
Hee is much affected to painting, and tis a question 
whether that make him an excellent player, or his 
playing an exquisite painter. Hee addes grace to the 
poets labours : for what in the poet is but ditty, in 
him is both ditty and musick. He entertaines us 
in the best leasure of our life, that is betweene 
meales, the most unfit time either for study or 
bodily exercise. The flight of hawkes and chase of 
wilde beasts, either of them are delights noble : but 
some thinke this sport of men the worthier, despight 
all calumny. All men have beene of his occupation : 
and indeed, what hee doth fainedly, that doe others 
essentially : this day one playes a monarch, the 
next a private person. Here one acts a tyrant, on 
the morrow an exile : a parasite this man to night, 
to morrow a precisian, and so of divers others. I 
observe, of all men living, a worthy actor in one 
kinde is the strongest motive of affection that can 
be : for when hee dyes, wee cannot be perswaded 
any man can doe his parts like him. But to conclude, 
I value a worthy actor by the corruption of some few 
of the quality, as I would doe gold in the oare ; I 
should not mind the drosse, but the purity of the 


A Franklin. 

iIS outside is an ancient yeoman of Eng- 
land, though his inside may give armes 
(with the best gentlemen) and ne're see 
the herauld. There is no truer servant in the house 
then himselfe. Though he be master, he sayes not 
to his servants, Goeto field, but, Let us goe ; and with 
his owne eye, doth both fatten his flock, and set 
forward all manner of husbandrie. Hee is taught 
by nature to bee contented with a little ; his owne fold 
yeelds him both food and rayment : hee is pleas'd 
with any nourishment God sends, whilst curious 
gluttony ransackes, as it were, Noahs ArTce for food, 
onely to feed the riot of one meale. He is nere 
knowne to goe to law ; understanding, to bee law- 
bound among men, is like to bee hide-bound among 
his beasts ; they thrive not under it : and that such 
men sleepe as unquietly, as if their pillowes were 
stuft with lawyers pen-knives. When he builds, no 
poore tenants cottage hinders his prospect : they are 
indeed his ahnes-houses, though there be painted on 
them no such superscription : he never sits up late, 
but when he hunts the badger, the vow'd foe of his 
lambs : nor uses hee any cruelty, but when hee hunts 
the hare, nor subtilty, but when he setteth snares 
for the snite, or pit-falls for the black-bird ; nor 


oppression, but when in the moneth of July, he goes 
to the next river, and sheares his sheepe. He allowes 
of honest pastime, and thinkes not the bones of the 
dead any thing bruised, or the worse for it, though the 
country lasses dance in the church-yard after even- 
song. Rocke Munday, and the wake in summer, 
shrovings, the wakefull ketches on Christmas Eve, 
the hoky, or seed cake, these he yeerely keepes, yet 
holds them no reliqnes of popery. He is not so 
inquisitive after newes derived from the privie closet, 
when the finding an eiery of hawkes in his owne 
ground, or the foaling of a colt come of a good straine, 
are tydings more pleasant, more profitable. Hee is 
lord paramount within himselfe, though hee hold by 
never so meane a tenure ; and dyes the more con- 
tentedly (though he leave his heire young) in regard 
he leaves him not liable to a covetous guardian. 
Lastly, to end him ; hee cares not when his end 
comes, hee needs not feare his audit, for his quietus is 
in heaven. 

A Rymer 

S a fellow whose face is hatcht all over 
with impudence, and should hee bee 
hang'd or pilloried, tis armed for it. 
Hee is a juggler with words, yet practises the art of 
most un clean ely conveyance. He doth boggle very 


often ; and because himselfe winks at it, thinks tis 
not perceived : the niaine thing that ever he did, 
was the tune hee sang to. There is nothing in the 
earth so pittifull, no not an ape-carrier, hee is not 
worth thinking of, and therefore I must leave him 
as nature left him ; a dunghill not well laid together. 

A Covetous man. 

»HIS man would love honour and adore 
God, if there were an L more in his 
name : Hee hath coffind up his soide in 
his chests before his body ; hee could wish he were 
in Mydas his taking for hunger, on condition he had 
his chymicall quality. At the grant of a new subsidy 
he would gladly hang himselfe, were it not for the 
charge of buying a rope, and begins to take money 
upon use, when he heares of a privy seale. His morn- 
ing prayer is to over-looke his baggs, whose every 
parcell begets his adoration. Then to his studies, 
which are how to cousen this tenant, begger that 
widow, or to undoe some orphane. Then his bonds 
are viewed, the well knowne dayes of payment con'd 
by heart ; and if he ever pray, it is, some one may 
breake his day, that the beloved forfeiture may be 
obtained. His use is doubled, and no one sixpence 
begot or borne, but presently by an untimely thrift 


it is getting more. His chimney must not be ac- 
quainted with fire, for feare of mischance, hut if 
extremitie of cold pinch him, hee gets him heat with 
looking on, and sometime removing Ins aged wood- 
pile, which he meanes to leave to many descents, till 
it hath out-lived all the woods of that countrey. He 
never spends candle but at Christmas (when he has 
them for new-yeeres gifts) in hope that his servants 
will breake glasses for want of light, which they 
doubly pay for in their wages. His actions are 
guilty of more crimes then other mens thoughts, and 
he conceives no sin which hee dare not act save oidy 
lust, from which he abstaines for feare hee should 
be charged with keeping bastards : once a yeere he 
feasts, the reliques of which meale shall serve him 
the next quarter. In his talke hee railes against 
eating of breake-fasts, drinking betwixt meales, and 
sweares he is impoverished with paying of tythes. 
He had rather have the frame of the world fall, then 
the price of corne. If he chance to travel, he curses 
his fortune that his place binds him to ride, and his 
faithfull cloak-bag is sure to take care for his pro- 
vision. His nights are as troublesome as his daies, 
every rat awakes him out of his unquiet sleeps. If 
he have a daughter to marry, he wishes he were in 
Hungary, or might follow the custom of that country, 
that all her portion might be a wedding gown. If 
he fall sicke, he had rather dye a thousand deaths, 


then pay for any physick : and if he might have his 
choice, he would not goe to heaven but on condition 
he may put money to use there. In fine, he lives a 
drudge, dies a wretch, that leaves a heap of pelfe 
(which so many carefull hands had scraped together) 
to haste after him to hell, and by the way it lodges 
in a lawyers purse. 

The proud Man 

S one in whom pride is a quality that 
condemnes every one besides his master, 
who when hee weares new clothes, thinks 
himselfe wrong'd, if they bee not observ'd, imitated, 
and his discretion in the choice of his fashion and 
stuffe applauded : when he vouchsafes to blesse the 
ayre with his presence, hee goes as neere the wall 
as his sattin suit will give him leave, and every 
passenger he viewes under the eye-browes, to ob- 
serve whether he vailes his bonnet low enough, which 
hee returnes with an imperious nod : he never 
salutes first, but his farewell is perpetuall. In his 
attire he is effeminate, every haire knows his owne 
station ; which if it chance to loose, it is checkt in 
againe with his pocket combe. He had rather have 
the whole commonwealth out of order, then the least 
member of his muchato, and chooses rather to lose 


his patrimony, then to have his band ruffled ; at a 
feast if hee be not placed in the highest seat, hee 
eats nothing, howsoever, hee drinks to no man, talks 
with no man for feare of familiarity. He professeth 
to keep his stomack for the pheasant or the quaile, 
and when they come, he can eat little, hee hath been 
so cloyed with them that yeare, although they be 
the first he saw. In his discourse he talks of none 
but Privy Councellors, and is as prone to be-lye their 
acquaintance, as he is a ladies favors : if he have 
but twelve-pence in's purse, he will give it for the 
best room in a play-house. He goes to sermons, 
only to shew his gay clothes, and if on other inferi- 
our daies he chance to meet his friend, hee is sorry 
he sees him not in his best suit. 

A Prison. 

J T should be Christs hospitall : for most of 
your wealthy citizens are good benefac- 
tors to it ; and yet it can hardly be so, 
because so few in it are kept upon almes. Charities 
house and this, are built many miles asunder. One 
thing notwithstanding is here praise worthy, for 
men in this persecution cannot chuse but prove good 
Christians, in that they are a kind of martyrs, and 
suffer for the truth. And yet it is so cursed a peece 


of land, that the sonne is ashamed to be his fathers 
heire in it. It is an infected pest-house all the yeare 
long : the plague-sores of the law, are the diseases 
here wholely reigning. The surgeons are atturnies 
and pettifoggers, who kill more then they cure. 
Lord have mercy upon us, may well stand over these 
doores, for debt is a most dangerous and catching 
city pestilence. Some take this place for the walks 
in Moore-fields, (by reason the madmen are so 
neere) but the crosses here and there are not alike. 
No, it is not halfe so sweet an ayre, for it is the 
dunghill of the law, upon which is thrown the mines 
of gentry, and the nasty heaps of voluntary de- 
cayed bankrupts, by which means it comes to bee 
a perfect medall of the iron age, sithence nothing 
but gingling of keyes, rattling of shackles, bolts and 
grates are here to be heard. It is the horse of Troy, 
in whose womb are shut up all the mad Greeks that 
were men of action. The Nullum vacuum (unlesse 
in prisoners bellies) is here truly to bee proved. 
One excellent effect is wrought by the place it selfe, 
for the arrantest coward breathing, being posted 
hither, comes in three dayes to an admirable stomack. 
Does any man desire to learne musick ? every man 
here sings Lachrymce at first sight, and is hardly 
out ; bee runnes division upon every note ; and yet 
(to their commendations bee it spoken) none of them 
(for all that division) doe trouble the Church. They 


are no Anabaptists ; if you aske under what horizon 
this climate lyes, the Bermudas and it are both 
under one and the same height. And wheras some 
suppose that this Hand (like that) is haunted with 
divels, it is not so : for those divels (so talked of, 
and feared) are none else but hoggish jaylors. 
Hither you need not sayle, for it is a ship of it selfe : 
the masters side is the upper deck. They in the 
common jayle lye under hatches, and helpe to ballast 
it. Intricate cases are the tacklings, executions the 
anchors, capiasses the cables, chancery-bils the huge 
sayles, a long terme the mast, law the helme, a 
judge the pylot, a councel the purser, an atturney 
the boatswain, his fleeting dark the swabber, bonds 
the waves, out-lawries gusts, the verdicts of juries 
rough winds, extents the rocks that split all in peeces. 
Or if it be not a ship, yet this and a ship differ not 
much in the building ; the one is a mooving misery, 
the other a standing. The first is seated on a spring, 
the second on piles. Either this place is an embleme 
of a bawdy-house, or a bawdy-house of it ; for 
nothing is to be seene (in any roome) but scurvy 
beds and bare walls. But (not so much to dishonor 
it) it is an university of poore schollers, in which 
three arts are chiefely studied : to pray, to curse, 
and to write letters. 


A Prisoner 

;S one that hath beene a monied man, 
and is still a very close fellow ; whoso- 
ever is of his acquaintance, let them 
make much of him, for they shall find him as fast a 
friend as any in England : he is a sure man, and 
you know where to find him. The corruption of a 
bankerupt, is commonly the generation of this crea- 
ture : hee dwels on the back side of the world, or 
in the suburbs of society, and lives in a tenement 
which he is sure none will goe about to take over 
his head. To a man that walkes abroad, he is one 
of the antipodes, that goes on the top of the world ; 
and tins under it. At his first comming in, hee is 
a peece of new coyne, all sharking old prisoners lye 
sucking at his purse. An old man and he are 
much alike, neither of them both goe farre. They 
are still angry, and peevish, and they sleepe little. 
Hee was borne at the fall of Babel, the confusion of 
languages is onely in his mouth. All the vacations, 
he speakes as good English, as any man in England ; 
in tearme times he breaks out of that and hopping 
one-legg'd pace, into a racking trot of issues, billes, 
replications, rejoynders, demurres, querelles, sub- 
penai's, Sec. able to fright a simple countrey fellow, 
and make him beleeve he conjures. Whatsoever 


his complexion was before, it turtles (in this place) 
to choler or deepe melancholy, so that hee needs 
every honre to take physick to loose his body, for 
that (like his estate) is very joule and corrupt, and 
extremely hard bound. The taking of an execution 
off his stomack, gives him five or sixe stooles, and 
leaves his body very soluble. The withdrawing of 
an action, is a vomit. Hee is no sound man, and 
yet an utter Barrester (nay, a sergeant of the case) 
will feed heartily upon him, hee is very good picking 
meat for a lawyer. The barber smgeons may (if 
they will) beg him for an anatomic after hee hath 
suffered execution ; an excellent lecture may bee 
made upon his body: hee is a kind of dead car- 
kasse, creditors, lawyers, and jaylors devoure it : 
creditors peck out his eyes with his owne teares, 
lawyers flay off his owne skinne, and lappe him in 
parchment, and jaylors are the promethean vultures 
that gnaw his very heart. Hee is a bond-slave to 
the law, and (albeit he were a shop-keeper in Lon- 
don') yet he cannot with safe conscience write him- 
selfe a freeman. His religion is of five or six 
colours ; this day he prayes that God may turne 
the hearts of his creditors : and to morrow he curseth 
the hour that ever he saw them. His apparell is 
dawb'd commonly with statute lace, the suit it selfe 
of durance, and the hose full of long paines. He 
hath many other lasting suits, which he himselfe is 


never able to weave out, for they weave out him. 
The Zodiaque of his life, is like that of the Sun 
(marry not halfe so glorious.) It begins in Aries, 
and ends in Pisces. Both head and feet are (all the 
yeare long) in troublesome and laborious motions, 
and Westminster Hall is his spheave. Hee lives 
betweenne the two tvopiques, {Gamer and Capvi- 
covne) and by that means is in double danger (of 
crabbed creditors) for his puvse, and hovnes for his 
head, if his wives heeles bee light. If hee be a 
gentleman, he alters his avmes so soone as he comes 
in. Few (heere) carry fields or avgent, but what- 
soever they bare before, here they give onely sables. 
Whiles he lies by it, he's travelling ore the Alps, 
and the hearts of his creditors are the snows that lye 
unmelted in the middle of Sommer. He is an 
ah /unlock out of date : none of his daies speake of 
faire weather. Of all the files of men, hee marcheth 
in the last, and comes limping, for he is shot, and 
is no man of this world, uidesse he be fetcht off 
nobly. He hath lost his way, and being benighted, 
strayed into a wood full of wolves, and nothing so 
hard as to get away, without being devoured. Hee 
that walkes from six to six in Pauls, goes still but 
a quoites cast before this man. 


A Creditour 

S a fellow that torments men for their 
good conditions. He is one of Deuca- 
lions sons begotten of a stone. The 
marble images in the Temple Church, that lye crosse- 
legg'd, doe much resemble him, saving that this is 
a little more crosse. Hee weares a forfeited bond 
under that part of his girdle where his tliumb stickes, 
with as much pride as a Welchman does a leek on 
S. Davids day, and quarrels more and longer about 
it. He is a catch/poles mornings draught : for the 
newes that such a gallant's come yesternight to 
towne, drawes out of him both muscadel and mony 
too. He saies the Lords praier backwards, or (to 
speake better of him) he hath a pater noster by 
himself, and that particle, Forgive us our debts, as 
we forgive others, <fec. he either quite leaves out, or 
els leaps over it. It is a dangerous rub in the alley 
of his conscience. He is the bloud-hound of the 
law, and hunts counter, very swiftly and with great 
judgement. He hath a quiche sent to smell out 
his game, and a good deepe mouth to pursue it, yet 
never opens till he bites, and bites not till hee killes, 
or at least drawes bloud, and then hee pincheili most 
doggedly. Hee is a lawyers moyle, and the onely 
beast upon which he ambles so often to Westminster. 


And a lawyer is his God Almighty, in him only he 
trusts, to him he flyes in all his troubles, from him 
he seekes succour ; to Mm he prayes, that hee may 
by his meanes overcome his enemies : him does hee 
worship both in the temple and abroad, and hopes 
by him and good Angels, to prosper in all bis actions. 
A scrivener is his farriar, and helps to recover all 
his diseased and maimed obligations. Every tearme 
he sets up a tenters in Westminster Hall, upon 
which he rackes and stretches gentlemen like English 
broadcloth, beyond the staple of the wooll, till the 
threds cracke, and that causeth them with the least 
wet to shrink, and presently to weare bare : marrie 
hee handles a citizen (at least if himselfe be one) 
like a peece of Spanish cloth, gives him onely a 
touch, and straines him not too bard, knowing how 
apt he is to break of himselfe, and then he can cut 
nothing out of him but shreds. To the one, he 
comes like Tamherlaine, with his blacke and bloudy 
flag. But to the other, his white one hangs out, 
and (upon the parley) rather then fade, he takes ten 
groats i'th' pound for his ransom, and so lets him 
march away with bag and baggage. From the 
beginning of Hilary to th' end of Michaelmas, his 
purse is full of quicksilver, and that sets him running 
from sun-rise to sun-set up Fleet street, and so to 
the Chancery, from thence to Westminster, then 
back to one court, after that to another ; then to 


atturney, then to a consellour, and in every of these 
places, he melts some of his fat (his money.) In 
the vacation he goes to grasse, and gets up his flesh 
againe, which he bates as you have heard. If he 
were to bee hang'd, unlesse he could be sav'd by his 
book, hee cannot for his heart call for a Psahne of 
mercy. He is a Tcnave-trap-baited with parchment 
and wax ; the fearefull mice he catches, are debters, 
with whom scratching atturney es (like cats) play a 
good while, and then mouze them. The belly is an 
unsatiable creditor, but man worse. 

A Sargeant 

»AS once taken (when he bare office in 
his parish) for an honest man. The 
spawn of a decaied shop-keeper begets 
this fry ; out of that dunghill is this serpents egge 
hatched. It is a divell made somtimes out of one 
of the twelve companies, and does but study the 
part and rehearse on earth, to be perfect when he 
comes to act it in hell : that is his stage. The 
hangman and he are tivinnes ; onely the hangman 
is the elder brother, and hee dying without issue (as 
commonly hee does, for none but a rope-makers 
widdow will marry him) this then inherites. His 
habit is a long gowne, made at first to cover his 


knavery, but that growing too monstrous, hee now 
goes in buffe : bis conscience and that, being both 
cut out of one hide, and are of one toughnesse. The 
countergate is his kennell, the whole citg his Paris 
garden, the misery of poore men (but especially of 
bad livers) are the offalles on which he feeds. The 
devill cals him his white Sonne ; he is so like him, 
that hee is the worse for it, and hee takes after his 
father; for the one torments bodies, as fast as the 
other tortures soules. Money is the crust he leaps 
at : crie, a ducke, a ducke, and hee plunges not in so 
eagerly as at this. The dogs chaps water to fetch 
nothing else : he hath his name for the same 
quality ; for sergeant, is quasi see argent, looke you 
rogues here is mony. Hee goes muffled like a 
theefe, and carries still the marks of one, for he 
stealesuyon a man cowardly, plucks him by the throat, 
makes him stand, and fleeces him. In this they 
differ, the theefe is more valiant and more honest. 
His walkes in terme time are up Fleet-street, at the 
end of terme up Holeborne, and so to Tyburne, the 
gallowes are his purlues, in which the hang-man 
and hee are the quarter rangers, the one turnes off, 
and the other cuts downe. All the vacation hee lies 
imboag'de behinde the lattice of some blinde, 
drunken, bawdy ale-house, and if he spie his prey, 
out he leapes, like a free-booter, and rifles ; or like 
a ban-dog worries. No officer to the citie, keepes 


his oath so uprightly; he never is forsworne, for 
hee sweares to be true varlet to the city, and he 
continues so to his dying day. Mace, which is so 
comfortable to the stomacke in all kinde of meats, 
turnes in his hand to mortal! poyson. This raven 
pecks not out mens eyes as others doe, all his spite 
is at their shoulders, and you were better to have 
the night-mare ride you, then this incubus. When 
any of the furies of hell die, this cacodcemon hath 
the reversion of his place. He will venture as 
desperately upon the Pox as any roaring boy of them 
all. For when hee arrests a whore, himselfe puts 
her in common baile at his owne perill, and shee 
paies him soundly for his labour ; upon one of the 
sheriffes custards hee is not so greedy, nor so sharpe 
set, as at such a stew-pot. The city is (by the 
custome) to feed him with good meat, as they send 
dead horses to their hounds, onely too keepe them 
both in good heart, for not onely those curs at the 
dog-house, but these within the walls, are to serve 
in their places, in their severall huntings. He is a 
citizens birdlime, and where he holds, he hangs. 


His Yeoman. 

wfiWi ^ * nc h" n O er that a sergeant weares by 
Wfi* ^SH his side, it is a false die of the same 
|v|^^^ bale, but not the same cut, for it runnes 
some-wbat higher, and does more mischiefe. It is 
a tumbler to drive in the conies. He is yet but a 
bungler, and kuowes not how to cut up a man with- 
out tearing, but by a pattern. One terme fleshes 
him, or a Fleet-street breake fast. The devill is 
but bis father in law, and yet for the love bee beares 
him, be will leave him as much as if he were his owne 
child. And for that cause (in stead of prayers) he 
does every morning at the counter-gate aske him 
blessing, and thrives the better in his actions all the 
day after. This is the hook that hangs under water 
to choake the fish, and his sergeant is the quill 
above water, which pops downe so soone as ever the 
bait is swallowed. It is indeed an otter, and the 
more terrible destroyer of the two. This counter- 
rat hath a taile as long as his fellowes, but his teeth 
are more sharp, and he more hungry, because he 
does but snap, and hath not his full halfe-share of 
the booty. The eye of this wolfe is as quicke in his 
head, as a cut-purses in a throng, and as nimble is 
hee at bis businesse, as an hang-man at an execu- 
tion. His office is as the dogs to worrie the sheepe 


first, or drive them to the shambles ; the butcher that 
cuts his throat, steps out afterwards, and that's his 
sargeant. His living lies within the city, but his 
conscience lies buried in one of the holes of a counter. 
This eele is bred too, out of the mud of a bank erupt, 
and dies commonly with his guts ript up, or else a 
sudden stab sends him of his last errant. Hee will 
very greedily take a cut with a sword, and sucke 
more silver out of the wound than his surgeon shall. 
His beginning is detestable, his courses desperate, 
and his end damnable. 

A Iaylor. 

^S a creature mistaken in the making, for 
hee should bee a tyger, but the shape 
being thought too terrible, it is covered ; 
and hee weares the vizor of a man, yet retaines the 
qualities of his former fiercenesse, currishnesse, and 
ravening. Of that red earth, of which man was 
fashioned, this peece was the basest ; of the rubbish 
which was left, and throwne by, came a jaylor, or 
if God had something els to doe then to regard such 
trash, his descent is then more ancient, but more 
ignoble, for then hee comes of the race of those angels 
that fell with Lucifer from heaven, whither he never 
(or very hardly) returnes. Of all his bunches of 
keyes, not one hath wards to open that doore ; for a 


jaylors soule stands not upon those two pillars that 
support heaven, (justice and mercy :) it rather sits 
upon those two foot-stooles of hell, wrong and 
cruelty. Hce is a judges slave, a prisoner 's his. 
In this they differ, he is a voluntary one, the other 
compeld. Ilee is the hang-man of the law (with a 
lame hand) and if the law gave him all his limbs 
perfect, he woidd strike those, on whom he is glad 
to fawne. In fighting against a debtor, hee is a 
creditors second ; but observes not the lawes of the 
duello, for his play is foule, and on all base advan- 
tages. His conscience and his shackles hang up 
together, and are made very neere of the same 
mettle, saving that the one is harder then the other, 
and hath one property above iron, for that never 
melts. He distils money out of poore mens teares, 
and growes fat by their curses. No man comming 
to the practicall part of hell, can discharge it better, 
because here he do's nothing but study the theoricke 
of it. His house is the picture of hell in little, and 
the originall of the letters patents of his office, stands 
exemplified there. A chamber of lowsie beds, is 
better worth to him than the best acre of corne-land 
in England. Two things are hard to him (nay 
almost impossible) viz : to save all his prisoners that 
none ever escape, and to be saved himselfe. His 
eares are stopt to the cries of others, and Gods to 
his : and good reason, for lay the life of a man in 


one scale, and his fees on the other, hee will loose 
the first, to find the second. He must looke for no 
mercy (if hee desires justice to be done to him) for 
he shewes none, and I thinke he cares the lesse, 
because he knowes heaven hath no need of such 
tenants, the doores there want no porters, for they 
stand ever open. If it were possible for all creatures 
in the world to sleepe every night, he onely and a 
tyrant cannot. That blessing is taken from them, 
and this curse comes in the stead, to be ever in feare, 
and ever hated : what estate can be worse ? 

What a Character is. 

F I must speake the schoole-masters 
„ lancuaoe, I will confesse that character 
3y& comes of this infinitive moode ■^apa^u 
which signifieth to ingrave, or make a deepe impres- 
sion. And for that cause, a letter (as A. E.) is 
called a character. 

Those elements which wee learne first, leaving a 
strong seale in our memories. 

Character is also taken for an ^Egyptian hiero- 
glyphicke, for an imprese, or short embleme ; in 
little comprehending much. 

To square out a character by our English levell, 



it is a picture (reall or personall) quaintly drawne, 
in various colours, all of them keigktned by one 

It is a quicke and soft touck of many strings, all 
skutting up in one musicall close : it is wits descant 
on any plaine song. 



Occasioned by divers Essaies, and private passages 

of Wit, betiveene sundrie Gentlemen 

upon that subject. 

Neioes from Court. 

\T is thought heore that there are as 
great miseries beyond happinesse, as 
a this side it, as being in love. That 
truth is every mans by assenting. 
That time makes every thing aged, and yet it selfe 
was never but a minute old. That, next sleep, the 
greatest devourer of time is businesse : the greatest 
stretcher of it, passion: the truest measure of it, 
contemplation. To be saved, alwayes is the best 
plot : and vertue alwayes cleares her way as she 
goes. Vice is ever behind-hand with it selfe. That 
ivit and a woman are two fraile tilings, and both the 

172 ME WES. 

frailer by concurring. That the meanes of begetting 
a man, hath more inereast mankind then the end. 
That the madnesse of love is to be sicke of one part, 
and cured by another. The madnesse of jealousie, 
that it is so diligent, and yet it hopes to lose his 
labour. That all women for the bodily part, are but 
the same meaning put in divers words. That the 
difference in the sense is their understanding. That 
the wisdome of action is discretion ; the knowledge 
of contemplation is truth : the knowledge of action 
is men. That the first considers what should be, 
the latter makes use of what is. That every man is 
weake in his owne humours. That every man a 
little beyond himselfe, is a foole. That affectation 
is the more ridiculous part of folly then ignorance. 
That the matter of greatnesse is comparison. That 
God made one world of substances ; man hath made 
another of art and opinion. That money is nothing 
but a thing which art hath turned up trumpe. 
That custome is the soide of circumstances. That 
custome hath so far prevailed, that truth is now the 
greatest newes. 

Sir T. Over. 

NEWES. 173 

Answere to the Court Ncwes. 
4raripnAHAT happinesse and misene are anti- 


rcjf^ podes. That yoodnesse is not felicitie, 
)^xj^^I but the rode thither. That mans strength 
is but a vicissitude of falling and rising. That 
onely to refraine ill, is to be ill still. That the plot 
of salvation was laid before the plot of Paradise. 
That enjoying is the preparative to contemning. 
That bee that seekes opinion beyond merit, goes just 
so farre back. That no man can obtaine his desires, 
nor in the world hath not to his measure. That to 
study, men are more profitable then bookes. That 
mens loves are their afflictions. That titles of 
honour, are rattles to still ambition. That to bee a 
king, is Fames butte, and Feares quiver. That the 
soules of women and lovers, are wrapt in the port- 
manque of their senses. That imagination is the 
end of man. That wit is the webbe, and wisdome 
the woofe of the cloth ; so that womens soules were 
never made up. That envie knowes what it will not 
confesse. That goodnesse is like the art prospective : 
one point center, begetting infinite rayes. That 
man, woman, and the devill, are the three degrees 
of comparison. That this newes holds number, but 
not weight, by which couple all things receive forme. 

174 NEWES. 

Countrey Newes. 

iHAT there is most lieere, for it gathers 
in going. That reputation is measured 
by the acre. That poverty is the great- 
est dishonesty. That the pitty of dlasse poore 
soule, is for the most part mistaken. That rost 
beefe is the best smell. Tbat a justice of peace is 
the best relique of idolatry. That the allegory of 
justice drawne blind, is turned the wrong way. 
That not to live too heavenly is accounted great 
wrong. That wisdome descends in a race. That 
wee love names better then persons. That to hold 
in knights service, is a slippery service. That a 
papist is a new word for a traitor. That the duty 
of religion is lent, not pay'd. That the reward is 
lost in the want of humility. That the puritane 
persecution is as a cloud that can hide the glory of 
the light, but not the day. That the emulation of 
the English and Scots to be the kings countrymen, 
thrust the honour on the Welsh. That a courtier 
never attaines his selfe-knowledge, but by report. 
That his best embleme is a hearne-dog. That many 
great men are so proud, that they know not their 
owne fathers. That love is the taile worme. That 
a woman is the effect of her owne first fame. That 
to remember, to know, and to understand, are three 
degrees not understood. That countrey ambition is 

NEWES. 175 

no vice, for there is nothing above a man. That 
fighting is a serving-mans valor : martyrdome 
their masters. That to live long, is to fill up the 
dayes we live. That the zeale of some mens reli- 
gion reflects from their friends. That the pleasure 
of vice is indulgence of the present, for it endures 
but the acting. That the proper reward of good- 
nesse is from within, the external! is policie. That 
good and ill is the crosse and pile in the ayme of 
life. That the soule is the lamp of the body, reason 
of the soule, religion of reason, faith of religion, 
Christ of faith. That circumstances are the atomies 
of policie, censure the being, action the life, but 
successe the ornament. That authority presseth 
downe with weight, and is thought violence : policie 
trips up the heeles, and is called the dexterity. That 
this life is a throng in a narrow passage, he that is 
first out, finds ease, bee in the middle worst hemm'd in 
with troubles, the hindmost that chives both out afore 
him, though not suffering wrong, hath his part in 
doing it. That God requires of our debts, a reckon- 
ing, not payment. That heaven is the easiest pur- 
chase, for wee are the richer for the disbursing. 
That liberality should have no object but the poore, 
if our minds were rich. That the mystery of great- 
nesse is to keepe the inferiour ignorant of it. That 
all this is no newes to a better wit. That the city 
cares not what the count rey thinkes. Sir T. R. 

176 NE WES. 

Newes from the verie countrie. 

*£§[HAT it is a frippery of courtiers, mar- 
chants, and others, which have beene in 
fashion, and are very neere worn out. 
That justices of peace have the selling of under- 
woods, but the lords have the great fals. The 
Jesuits are like apricockes, heretofore, heere and 
there one succour'd in a great mans house, and cost 
deare ; now you may have them for nothing in every 
cottage. That every great vice is a pike in a pond, 
that devours vertues and lesse vices. That it is 
wholsomest getting a stomacke by walking on your 
owne ground ; and the thriftiest laying of it at 
anothers table. That debtors are in London close 
prisoners, and heere have the liberty of the house. 
That atheists in affliction, like blind beggers, are 
forced to aske, though they know not of whom. 
That there are (God be thanked) not two such acres 
in all the countrey, as the Exchange and Westmin- 
ster Hall. That only Christmasse Lords know their 
ends. That women are not so tender fruit, but that 
they doe as well, and beare as well upon beds, as 
plashed against walls. That our carts are never 
worse imployed, then when they are waighted on by 
coaches. That sentences in authors, like haires in 
horse tailes, concurre in one root of beauty and 

NEWES. 177 

strength ; but being pluckt out one by one, serve 
only for springes and snares. That both want and 
abundance, equally advance a rectified man from the 
world, as cotton and stones are both good casting for 
an hawke. That I am sure there is none of the for- 
bidden fruit left, because we doe not all eat therof. 
That our best three-pilde mischiefe comes from 
beyond the sea, and rides post through the countrey, 
but his errand is to court. That next to no wife 
and children, your owne are the best pastime, anothers 
wife and your children worse, your wife and anothers 
children worst. That states-men hunt their fortunes, 
and are often at default. Favorites course her, and 
are ever in view. That intemperance is not so unwhol- 
some here ; for none ever saw sparrow sicke of the 
pox. That here is no trechery nor fidelity, but it is 
because here are no secrets. That court-motions 
are up and downe, ours circular, theirs like squibs 
cannot stay at the highest, nor returne to the place 
which they rose from, but vanish and weare out in 
the way : ours like milwheeles, busie without chang- 
ing place ; they have peremptory fortunes, we vicis- 

I. D. 

178 NEWES. 

Answere to the very Countrey Newes. 

)T is a thought, that man is the cooke of 
time, and made dresser of his owne fatting. 
i§j% That the five senses are cinque-ports for 
temptation, the traffique sinne, the lieutenant Sathan, 
the custome-tribute, soides. That the citizens of 
the high court, grow rich by simplicity ; but those 
of London, by simple craft. That life, death, and 
time, doe with short cudgels dance the matachine. 
That those which dwell under the zona torrida, are 
troubled with more damps, than those of frigida. 
That jiolicie and superstition hath of late her masque 
rent from her face, and shee is found with a wrie 
mouth and a stinking breath, and those that courted 
her hotly, hate her now in the same degree or be- 
yond. That Nature too much loving her own, 
becomes unnatural] and foolish. That the soide in 
some is like an egge, hatched by a young pullet, 
who often rigging from her nest, makes hot and 
cold beget rottennesse, which her wanton youth will 
not beleeve, till the faire shell being broken, the 
stinke appeareth to profit others, but cannot her. 
That those are the wise ones, that hold the superficies 
of vertue, to support her contrary, all-sufficient. 
That clemency within and without is the nurse of 
rebellion. That thought of the future is retired into 

NEWES. 179 

the countrey, and time present dwels at court. That 
I living neere the church-yard, where many are 
buried of the pest, yet my infection commeth from 
Spaine, and it is feared it will disperse further into 
the kingdome. 

A. S. 

Newes to the Universitie. 

MEEEE scholler is but a live book. 
Actions doth expresse knowledge better 
then words ; so much of the soide is 
lost as the body cannot utter. To teach, should 
rather be an effect, then the purpose of learning. 
Age decayes nature, perfects art : therefore the glory 
of youth, is strength : of the gray head, wisdome ; 
yet most condemne the follies of their owne infancie, 
runne after those of the worlds, and in reverence of 
antiquity will beare an old error against a new truth. 
Logieke is the Jieraldrie of arts, the array of judge- 
ment, none it selfe, nor any science without it : where 
it and learning meete not, must be either a skilfull 
ignorance, or a wilde knowledge. Understanding 
cannot conclude out of moode and figure. Discretion 
containes rhetoricke ; the next way to learne good 
words, is to learne sense ; the newest philosophic 
is soundest, the eldest divinitie : astronomie begins 
in nature, ends in magick. There is no honesty 

180 NEWES. 

of the body without health, which no man hath 
had since Adam. Intemperance that was the first 
mother of sicknesse, is now the daughter. Nothing 
dies but qualities. No kind iu the world can perish 
without ruine of the whole. All parts helpe one 
another (like states) for particular interest : so in 
arts which are but translations of nature, there is no 
sound position in any one, which, imagine false, there 
may not from it bee drawne strong conclusions, to 
disprove all the rest. Where one truth is granted, 
it may bee by direct meanes brought to confirme any 
other controverted. The soule and body of the first 
man, were made fit to bee immortall together : we 
cannot live to the one, but wee must die to the other. 
A man and a Christian are two creatures. Our per- 
fection in this world is vertue, in the next, knowledge ; 
when we shall read the glory of God in his owne 

Newes from Sea. 

<J HAT the best pleasure is to have no 
K?t^ object of pleasure, and uniformity is a 
^&^4 better prospect then variety. That put- 
ting to sea is change of life, but not of condition, 
where risings and fals, calmes, and crosse-gales are 
yours, in order and turne ; fore-winds but by chance. 
That it is the worst wind, to have no wind, and that 

NEWES. 181 

your srnooth-fac'd courtier, (leading your course by 
a calme, gives greater impediment, then an open 
enemies crosse-gale. That levity is a vertue, for 
many are held up by it. That it's nothing so intri- 
cate and infinite to rigge a ship, as a woman, and 
the more either is fraught, the apter to leake. That 
to pumpe the one, and shreeve the other, is alike 
noysome. That small faults habituated, are as dan- 
gerous as little leakes unfound ; and that to punish 
and not prevent, is to labour in the pumpe, and leave 
the leake open. That it is best striking saile before 
a storme, and necessariest in it. That a little time 
in our life is best, as the shortest cut to our haven is 
the happiest voyage. That to him that hath no 
haven, no wind is friendly ; and yet it is better to 
have no haven, then some kind of one. That ex- 
pedition is every where to bee bribed but at sea. 
That gaine workes this miracle, to make men walke 
upon the water ; and that the sound of commodity 
drowns the noise of a storme, especially of an absent 
one. That I have once in my life out-gone night 
at sea, but never darknesse ; and that I shall never 
wonder to see a hard world, because I have lived to 
see the sunne a bankrupt, being ready to starve for 
cold in his perpetuall presence. That a mans com- 
panions are (like ships) to bee kept in distance, for 
falling foule one of another ; onely with my friend I 
will close. That the fairest field for a running: head is 

182 WE WES. 

the sea, where he may run himselfe out of breath, 
and his humour out of him. That I could carry you 
much further, and yet leave more before then be- 
hind, and all will be but via navis, without print or 
tracke, for so is morall instruction to youths watrish 
humour. That though a ship under saile be a good 
sight, yet it is better to see her moor'd in the haven. 
That I care not what become of this fraile barke of 
my flesh, so I save the passenger. And here I cast 

W. S. 

THE YEEEE 1616. 

From France. 

{ T is delivered from France, that the 
choyce of friends there, is as of their 
wines : those that heeing new, are 
hard and harsh, prove best : the most 
pleasing are least lasting. That an enemy fierce at 
the first onset, is as a torrent tumbling downe a moim- 
taine ; a while it beares all before it : have but that 
whiles patience, you may passe it drie-foot. That 
a penetrating judgement may enter into a mans 
mind by his bodies gate : if this appeare affected, 
apish and unstable ; a wonder if that be settled. 

That vaine glory, new fashions, and the French 
disease, are upon termes of quitting their countries 
allegeance, to be made free denisons of England. 
That the wounds of an ancient enmity have their 

184 NEWES. 

scarres, which cannot be so well closed to the sight, 
but they will lye open to the memory. That a 
princes pleasurable vices, ushered by authority, and 
waited on by connivence, sooner punish themselves 
by the subjects imitation, then they can bee reformed 
by remonstrance or correction : so apt are all ill 
examples to rebound on them that give them. That 
kings heare truth oftner for the tellers, then their 
owne advantage. 

From Spaine. 

HAT the shortest cut to the riches of the 
Yez§ Indies, is by their contempt. That who 
is feared of most, feares most. That it 
more vexeth the proud, that men despise them, then 
that they do not feare them. That greatnesse is fruit- 
full enough, when other helps faile, to beget on it 
selfe destruction. That it is a grosse flattering of 
tired cruelty, to honest it with the title of clemency. 
That to eat much at other mens cost, and little at 
his owne, is the wholesomest and most nourishing 
diet, both in court and country. That those are 
aptest to domineere over others, who by suffering 
indignities, have learned to offer them. That am- 
bition like a silly dove flies up to fall downe, it minds 
not whence it came, but whither it will. That even 
galley-slaves, setting light by their captivity, find 

NEWES. 185 

free-dome in bondage. - That to be slow in military 
businesse, is to be so courteous, as to give the way 
to an enemy. That lightning and greatnesse, more 
f'eare then hurt. 

Ftoih Rome. 

[HAT the venerea]] (called veniall) sin, its 
to passe in the rank of cardinal] vertues ; 
and that those shoidd bee held henceforth 
his llolinesse beneficiall friends, that sinne upon hope 
of pardon. That where vice is a state-commodity, 
he is an offender that often offends not. That Jewes 
and curtezans there, are as beasts that men feed, to 
feed on. That for an Englishman to abide at Rome, 
is not so dangerous as report makes it ; since it 
skilles not where we live, so we take heed how we 
live. That greatnesse comes not down by the way 
it went up, there being often found a small distance 
between the highest and the lowest fortunes. That 
rackt authority is oft lesse at home then abroad 
regarded, while things that seeme, are (commonly) 
more a farre off then at hand feared. 

186 NEWES. 

From Venice. 

the most profitable banke, is the 
true use of a mans selfe, whiles such as 
grow mouldy in idlenesse, make their 
houses their tombs, and die before their death. That 
many dangerous spirits lie buried in their wants, 
which had they meanes to their minds, would dare 
as much as those that with their better fortunes over- 
top them. That professed curtezans, if they be any 
way good, it is because they are openly bad. That 
frugality is the richest treasure of an estate, where 
men feed for hunger, cloath for cold and modesty, 
and spend for honour, charity, and safety. 

From Germanie. 


iHAT the infectious vice of drunken-good- 
fellowship, is like to stick by that nation 
as long as the multitude of offenders so 
benums the sense of offending, as that a common 
blot is held no staine. That discretions must be 
taken by weight, not by tale : who doth otherwise, 
shall both prove his own too light, and fall short of 
his reckoning. That feare and a nice fore-cast of 
every slight clanger, seldome gives either faithfull or 
fruitfull counsell. That the empire of Germanie, is 
not more jrreat then that over a mans selfe. 

NE WES. 187 

From the Low- Countries. 

i HAT one of the surest grounds of a mans 
liberty is, not to give another power over 
it. That the most dangerous plunge 
whereto to put thine enemy, is desperation, while 
forcing him to set light by his owne life, thou makest 
him master of thine. That neglected danger lights 
soonest and heaviest. That they are wisest, who in 
the likelihood of good, provide for ill. That since 
pity dwels at the next doore to misery, he liveth 
most at ease, that is neighboured with envie. That 
the evill fortune of the warres, as well as the good, 
is variable. 

Newes from my Lodging. 

\HAT the best prospect is to looke inward. 
That it is, quieter sleeping in a good 
conscience, then a whole skin. That a 
soule in a fat body lies soft, and is loth to rise. That 
he must rise betimes who would cosen the devil. 
That flattery is increased from a pillow under the 
elbow, to a bed under the whole body. That policie 
is the unsleeping night of reason. That he who 
sleepes in the cradle of security, sinnes soundly 
without starting. That guilt is the flea of the con- 

188 NEWES. 

science. That no man is throughly awaked, but by 
affliction. That a hang'd chamber in private, is 
nothing so convenient as a hang'd traitour in pub- 
like. That the religion of papistry, is like a cur- 
taine, made to keepe out the light. That the life 
of most women is walking in their sleep, and they 
talke their dreames. That chambering is counted a 
civiller quality, then playing at tables in the hall, 
though serving-men use both. That the best bed- 
fellow for all times in the yeare, is a good bed without 
a fellow. That he who tumbles in a calme bed, hath 
his tempest within. That he who will rise, must 
first lye downe and take humility in his way. That 
sleep is deaths picture drawne to life, or the twylight 
of life and death. That in sleep we kindly shake 
death by the hand ; but when we are awaked, we 
will not know him. That often sleepings are so 
many trials to dye, that at last we may doe it per- 
fectly. That few dare write the true newes of their 
chamber : and that I have none secret enough to 
tempt a strangers curiosity, or a servants discovery. 
God give you good morrow. 

B. K. 

NEWES. 189 

Newes of my morning Worke. 


"A HAT to bee good ; the way is to bee 
^ most alone, or the best accompanied. 
^4 That the way to heaven is mistaken for 
the most melancholy walke. That the most feare 
the worlds opinion, more then Gods displeasure. 
That a court-friend seldome goes further then the 
first degree of charitie. That the devill is the per- 
fectest courtier. That innocencie was first cousin 
to man, now guiltinesse hath the neerest alliance. 
That sleepe is deaths leiger-ambassadour. That 
time can never bee spent : we passe by it, and can- 
not returne. That none can bee sure of more time 
then an instant. That sinne makes worke for re- 
pentance, or the devill. That patience hath more 
power then afflictions. That every ones memory is 
divided into two parts : the part losing all, is the 
sea, the keeping part is land. That honesty in the 
court lives in persecution, like Protestants in Spain. 
That predestination and constancy are alike uncer- 
taine to be judged of. That reason makes love the 
serving-man. That vertues favour is better then a 
kings favourite. That being sick, begins a suit to 
God ; being well, possesseth it. That health is the 
coach which carries to heaven, sicknesse the post 
horse. That worldly delights to one in extreme 

190 NEWES. 

sicknesse, is like a high candle to a Wind man. 
That absence doth sharpen love, presence strengthens 
it, that the one brings fuell, the other blowes it till 
it burnes cleare : that love often breakes friendship, 
that ever increaseth love. That constancy of women, 
and love in men, is alike rare. That art is truths 
juggler. That falsehood playes a larger part in the 
world then truth. That blind zeale, and lame know- 
ledge, are alike apt to ill. That fortune is humblest 
where most contemned. That no porter but resolu- 
tion keepes feare out of minds. That the face of 
goodncsse without a body, is the worst wickednesse. 
That womans fortunes aspire but by others powers. 
That a man with a female wit, is the worst herma- 
phrodite. That a man not worthy being a friend, 
wrongs himselfe by being in acquaintance. That 
the worst part of ignorance, is making good and ill 
seeme alike. That all this is newes onely to fooles. 

Mist. B. 

Newes from the lower end of the Table. 

?T is said among the folk here, that if a 
man die in his infancy, hee hath onely 
broke his fast in this world : if in his 
youth, hee hath left us at dinner. That it is bed- 
time with a man at three-score and ten : and hee 
that lives to a hundred yeeres, hath walked a mile 

NEWES. 191 

after supper. That the humble-minded man makes 
the lowest eurtesie. That grace before meat, is our 
election, before we were : grace after meat our sal- 
vation when we are gone. The soule that halts 
betweene two opinions, falls betweene two stooles. 
That a foole at the upper end of the table, is the 
bread before the salt. Hee that hates to bee re- 
prooved, sits in his owne light. Hunger is the 
cheapest sawce, and nature the cheapest guest. The 
sensible man and the silent woman, are the best 
discoursers. Repentance without amendment, is 
but the shifting of a foule trencher. Hee that tels 
a lie to save his credit, wipes his mouth with his 
sleeve to spare his napkin. The tongue of a jester 
is the fiddle that the hearts of the company dance to. 
The tongue of a foole carves a piece of his heart to 
every man that sits next him. A silent man is a 
covered messe. The contented man onely is his 
owne carver. Hee that hath many friends, eats too 
much salt with his meat. That wit without discre- 
tion, cuts other men meat and his owne fingers. 
That the soule of a cholericke man sits ever by the 
fire-side. That patience is the lard of the leane 
meat of adversitie. The epicure puts his money into 
his belly, and the miser his belly into his piuse. That 
the best company makes the upper end of the table, 
and not the salt-celler. The superfluitie of a mans 
possessions, is the broken meat that should remaine 

192 NEWES. 

to the poore. That the envious keepes his knife in 
his hand, and swallowes his meat whole. A rich 
foole among the wise, is a gilt empty howle amongst 
the thirstie. Ignorance is an insensible hunger. 
The water of life is the best wine. Hee that robs 
mee of my invention, bids himselfe welcome to 
another mans table, and I will bid him welcome 
when hee is gone. The vaine-glorious man pisseth 
moi - e then he drinkes. That no man can drinke an 
health out of the cup of blessing. To surfet upon 
wit, is more dangerous then to want it. Hee that's 
overcome of any passion, is dry drunk. Tis easier 
to fill the belly of faith then the eye of reason. The 
rich glutton is better fed then taught. That faith 
is the elbow for a heavy soule to leane on. He that 
sinnes that he may repent, surfets that he may take 
physick. He that riseth without thanksgiving, goes 
away and owes for his ordinary. He that begins to 
repent when he is old, never washed his hands till 
night. That this life is but one day of three meales, 
or one meale of three courses : child-hood, youth, 
and old age. That to sup well, is to live well : and 
that's the way to sleepe well. That no man goes to 
bed till he dies, nor wakes till he be dead. And 

Good night to you here, 

and good morrow hereafter. 
I. C. 

NEWES. 193 

Newes from the Church. 

T was thought heerc, that the world was 
made for man, and not man for the 
world, and that therefore they take a 
crosse course that lye downe there. That those that 
will not rise, their soules must, and carry their bodies 
to judgement. That wee have spent one inheritance 
already, and are prodigall of this. That there is 
no hope beyond mercy, and that this is that time ; 
the next is of justice. That Christ when hee went 
away, left good seed in his Church ; and when he 
comes againe, hee shall finde Christians, but not 
faith. That the devill hath got upon us, the same 
way that he did at the first, by drawing shadowes 
over substances, as he did the body over the soule. 
That Protestants weare the name of Christ for a 
chaniie, as Pcqrists doe the crosse. That States use 
it, the clergie live by it, the people follow it, more 
by a streame, then one by one. That all are reli- 
gious rather then some. That every one lookes to 
another, but not to himselfe. That they goe so by 
throngs to heaven, that it is to bee feared they take 
the broader way. That the church is in the world, 
like a ship in the sea ; the elect in the chinch, like 
Ionas amongst the mariners. That to mend this, is 
to cheate the devill, to turne man the right side 

194 NE WES. 

outward, and set the soule foremost agalne. That 
the soule may be too ranke too, if wee looke not to 
it : and so a Puritaine oftentimes meetes a Papist 
in superstition another way. That to binde from and 
to indifferent things, is equall, though it bee thought 
otherwise. That some, out of a good meaning, have 
fallen this way into a vice. That these faults are 
more subtill ; and therefore lesse perceived, and lesse 
to bee blamed ; but as dangerous as the other, if they 
take head. That the rule is in all things, the body 
and the soule must goe together, but the better be- 
fore. That wee have contended so long about the 
body of religion, that some men thought it was dead. 
That so Atheists are come into the church, and that 
it will bee as hard to cast them out, as devils. That 
those which have thus broken the peace of Jerusalem, 
are obliged to satisfaction ; and those which first 
gave them cause of amendment. That they are a 
good medicine one for another, and both a good 
composition. That a pure bishop is the best govern- 
ment, if the pride on both sides would let them know 
it. That all controversies, for the most part, leave 
the truth in the middle, and are factious at both ends. 
That the church hath this good by them, they cleanse 
the way for others, but not for themselves. That 
sincerity, in the cause of truth, is more worth then 
learning. That too much, and too little knowledge, 
have made the world mad. That wee have a shorter 

NEWES. 195 

cut to it ; and a surer way than Drake had over the 
world, if wee coidd find it out. That every man is a 
briefe of the whole ; and as he is so, he is greater 
then a king. That every king is a briefe of his 
land, and hee hath a patterne of the government of 
it alwaies about him. That as the honour that hee 
gives unto his nobles and counsellors is a charge ; 
so is that which God gives liim. That as he requires 
an account, so he must give. That he is the image 
of God in his kingdome, as man is in the world. 
That therefore the subjects owe him obedience, as 
the creatures doe man. That those that will not 
obey, are neither good subjects, nor good men. That 
to obey well, is as great a thing as to governe, and 
more mens duties. That those that thinke not so, 
know not the Christians part, which is to suffer. 
That though states be naught, if they professe reli- 
gion, they may deliver many men safe to heaven, 
though they goe not themselves, and so they are like 
bad ministers. That this is Gods use of both, and of 
the world too, to convey his elect to their place. 
That the outward face of the church hath but the 
same use, and the elect are the church themselves. 
That they are the temple of the Holy Ghost, and 
therefore ought to pluck down their idols, and set up 
God there. That the idols of these times, are 
covetousnesse, pride, gluttony, wantonnesse, heresies, 
and such like admiration and serving of our selves. 

196 NEWES. 

That wee must make all time an occasion of amend- 
ment, because the clevill makes it an occasion to 
tempt. That he is a spirit, and therefore is cunninger 
then we. That there is no way to resist him, but 
by the Spirit of God, which is his master. That 
this is the gift of God, which hee giveth to all that 
are his. That it is increased by the word, and held 
by humility and prayer. That faith is the effect of 
it, and workes the assurance. That thus the under- 
standing and will, which is the whole soule of man, 
is made up againe, and sanctifies the body. That 
so we are the members of Christ. That our head is 
in heaven, as a pawne, that where he is, wee shall 
bee. That there is no opinion but knowledge ; for 
it is the science of soules, and God the teacher. 

Newes from the bed. 

I, HAT the bed is the best rendevou of 
mankind, and the most necessary orna- 
ment of a chamber. That soiddiers are 
good antiquaries in keeping the old fashion ; for the 
first bed was the bare ground. That a mans pillow 
is his best counsellor. That Adam lay in state, when 
the heaven was his canopie. That the naked truth 
is, Adam and Eve lay without sheetes. That they 
were either very innocent, verie ignorant, or very 
impudent, they were not ashamed the heavens should 

NEWES. 197 

see them lie without a coverlet. That it is likely 
Eve studied astronomic, which makes the posterity 
of her sex ever since to lie on their backes. That 
the circumference of the bed is nothing so wide as 
the convex of the heavens, yet it containes a whole 
world. That the five senses are the greatest sleepers. 
That a slothfull man is but a reasonable dormouse. 
That the soule ever awakes to watch the body. That 
a jealous man sleepes dog-sleepe. That sleepe makes 
no difference betweene a wise man and a foole. That 
for all times sleepe is the best bedfellow. That the 
devill and mischiefe ever awake. That love is a 
dreame. That the preposterous hopes of ambitious 
men are like pleasing dreames, farthest off when 
awake. That the bed payes Venus more custome 
then all the world beside. That if dreames and 
wishes had beene all true, there had not beene since 
poperie, one maide to make a nun of. That the 
secure man sleepes soundly, and is hardly to be 
awak't. That the charitable man dreanies of build- 
ing churches, but starts to thinke the ungodlier 
courtier will pull them downe againe. That sleepers 
were never dangerous in a state. That there is a 
naturall reason, why popish priests chuse the bed to 
confesse their women upon, for they hold it neces- 
sarie, that humiliation shoidd follow shrift. That if 
the bed should speake all it knowes, it would put 
many to the blush. That it is fit the bed should 
know more then paper. R. S. 

198 NEWES. 

Neices from Shipboord. 

I HAT repentance without amendment, is 
like continuall pumping, without mend- 
ing the leake. That hee that lives 
without religion, sayles without a compasse. That 
the wantonnesse of a peaceahle common- wealth, is 
like the playing of the porpesse before a storme. 
That the foole is sea-sick in a calme, but the wise 
mans stomack endures all weathers. That passions 
in a foole, are ordinance broken loose in a storme, 
that alter their property of offending others, and 
ruine himselfe. That good fortunes are a soft quick- 
sand, adversity a rock ; both equally dangerous. 
That vertue is in poverty a ready riggd ship, that lies 
wind-bound. That good fashion in a man, is like 
the pilot in a ship, that doth most with least force. 
That a fooles tongue is like the buye of an anchor, 
you shall finde his heart by it wheresoever it lyes. 
Wisdome makes use of the crosses of this world, as 
a skilfull pilot of rocks for sea-niarkes to saile by. 

H. R. 

NEWES. 199 

Nerves from the Chimney-corner. 

HAT wit is brush-wood, judgement tim- 
ber : the one gives the greatest flame, 
the other yeelds the durablest heat, and 
both meeting makes the best fire. That bawdes and 
atturneyes are andirons that uphold their clyents, till 
they burne each other to ashes : they receive warmth 
by these ; these by them their destruction. That a 
wise rich man is like the backe or stocke of the 
chimney, and his wealth the fire ; he receives it not 
for his owne need, but to reflect the heat to others 
good. That house-keeping in England is falne from 
a great fire in a hot summers day, to boughs in the 
chimney all winter long. That mans reason in 
matter of faith is fire, in the first degree of his ascent 
flame, next smoake, and then nothing. A young 
fellow falne in love with a whore, is said to be falne 
asleepe in the chimney corner. He that leaves his 
friend for his wench, forsakes his bed to set up and 
watch a coale. That the covetous rich man onely 
freezes before the fire. That choler is an ill guest, 
that pisses in the chimney for want of a chamber- 
pot. That chaste beauty is like the bellowes, whose 
breath is cold, yet makes others burne. That he 
that expounds the Scriptures upon the warrant of 
his owne spirit only, layes the brands together with- 

200 NEWES. 

out tongs, and is sure (at least) to burne his owne 
fingers. That the lover keeps a great fire in's house 
all the yeare long. That devotion, like fire in frostie 
weather, burnes hottest in affliction. That such 
fryers as flye the world for the trouble of it, lye in 
bed all day in winter to spare fire-wood. That a 
covetous man is a dog in a wheele, that toiles to 
roast meat for other mens eating. That pagans 
worshipping the sunne, are said to hold their hands 
to the glo-worme in stead of a coale for heat. That 
a wise mans heart is like a broad health that keeps 
the coales (his passions) from burning the house. 
That good deeds, in this life, are coales raked up in 
embers, to make a fire next day. 



cond part of 

The Remedy of Loue: 

Written by Sir Thomas Overbvry 


Printed by Nicholas Okes, and are to be fold by 

John VVeh at his fhop in Fetter-lane and 

in the Temple. 





FIR, in this my love is showne to you, 
since I give you the Remedy of Love, a 
receipe never before ministred by any 
but Ovid, one well skild in the cause, therefore 
should better gesse at the Remedy : many others, 
perhaps, in this world, with your selfe, which cry 
with our Poet, 

. . . Oh nature too unkind, 
That made no medcine for a love-sick mind, 

Here may have remedy : (it is an infection reignes) 
but if your selfe or any other finde remedy in this 
my remedy, I (not physition like) looke but for 
thankes, and I appeale to all lovers for the patroniz- 
ing of this little pamphlet : Thus wishing you in all 
your desires remedy, I rest 

Yours I. W. 


^ITEN Love did reade the Title of my 
He fear'd least some had armes against 
him tooke ; 
Suspect mee not for such a wicked thought, 
Under thy colours which so oft have fought. 
Some youths are oft in love, but I am ever ; 
And now to do the same I do persever. 
I meane not to blot out what I have taught, 
Nor to unwinde the web that I have wrought. 
If any love, and is with love repaide, 
Blest be his state ! he needeth not my aide : 
But if he reape scorne where he love hath sowne, 
Of such it is that I take charge alone. 
Why should love any unto hanging force ? 
When as even hate can drive them to no worse ? 
Why by their own hands should it cause men perish, 
When it is peace alone that love doth cherish ? 
Il'e ease you now which taught to love before, 


The same hand which did wound shall heale the sore. 
The same earth, poyson'd flowres, and healthsome 

The rose is often neighbour unto weeds. 
To men and women both, I physicke give, 
Else I but halfe the sicke world should relieve. 
If any for that sexe unfitting are, 
Yet they by mens example may beware : 
Had wicked Scylla this my counsell read, 
The golden haire had stuck to Nisus head. 

Take heed, when thou dost first to like begin, 
Thrust not love out, but let him not come in. 
By running farre, brookes runne with greater force, 
'Tis easier to hold in, then stop thy horse. 
Delay, addes strength and faster hold imparts : 
Delay, the blades of corne, to eares converts. 
The tree which now is father to a shade, 
And often head against the winde hath made, 
I could at first have pluckt up with my hand, 
Though the sunnes prospect now it dares withstand. 
Then passions, ere they fortifie, remove, 
" In short time, liking groweth to be love :" 
Be provident, and so prevent thy sorrow, 
Who will not do't to day, cannot to morrow. 
The river which now multipli'd doth swell, 
Is in his cradle but a little well. 
Oft, that which when 'tis done is but a skarre, 
Becomes a wound while we the cure deferre. 


But in thy heart if love he firmely seated, 
And hath such roote as cannot he defeated ; 
Although it had at first, I did not take you, 
At point of death 'twere cruell to forsake you. 
That fire which water never can asswage, 
For want of stuffe at length must end his rage. 
Whiles love is in his furious heate give place, 
Delay, what counsell cannot, brings to passe. 
At first his minde impatient and sore, 
Doth physicke, more then the disease abhorre. 

Who but a foole, a mother will forbid, 
Her sonne new dead, some briny drops to shed : 
When she a while hath spoke her griefe in teares, 
With patience then, of patience she heares. 
Out of due season who so physicke gi's, 
Though it cause health, yet hath he done amisse, 
And friendly counsell urged out of date, 
Doth fret the sore, and cause the hearers hate. 

But when loves anger seemeth to appease, 
By all meanes labour to shunne idlenes : 
This brings him first, this staies him and no other, 
This is to Cupid both his nurse and mother. 
Barre idlenesse, loves arrowes blunt will turne, 
And the anflaming fire want power to burne. 
" Love nere doth better entertainment finde, 
Then in a desolate and empty minde." 
Sloth is loves bawde, if thou wilt leave wooing, 
Let still thy body, or thy minde be doing. 


Full liappinesse nere stop'd with rub of chance, 

Ease uncontroul'd, long sleepes and dalliance, 

Do wound the minde, though never pierce the skin, 

And through that wound love slily creepeth in. 

Then either unto bookes go make thy mone, 

So Shalt thou have most company alone. 

Or else unto the doubtfull warres go range, 

Ready, thy selfe, for honour to exchange. 

The Parthian, that valiant run-away , 

To yeeld new cause of triumph doth assay. 

AZgystus was a letcher, and why so ? 

The cause was he had notbing else to do. 

When all the youths of Greece for Troy were bound, 

And with a wall of men enclos'd it round, 

JEgystus would not from his home remove, 

Where he did nothing, but that nothing love. 

If these faile, to the country then repaire, 
For any care extinguisheth this care : 
There maist thou see the oxe, the yoke obey, 
And though the earth, ploughs eating throgb their 

To whom thou maist set corne to use, and see 
For every corne, spring up a little tree. 
The sunne being midwife, thou shalt oft finde there, 
Trees bearing far more fruite then they can beare. 
And how the silver brookes are riding post, 
Till in some river they themselves have lost. 
There maist thou see goates skale the highest hill, 


That they their bellies and their dugges may fill. 

And harmelesse sheepe, to whom was no defence, 

By nature ever given, but innocence. 

There maist thou learne to graffe, and then note how, 

The old tree nurseth the adopted bough ; 

And of his sap doth him allowance rate, 

Though his fruite from him do degenerate. 

There maist thou see the hare tre'd many a ring, 

The hounds into a laborinth to bring : 

Untill he (having long his death delaide) 

By his owne steps be to the dogs betraide. 

Of fishing use, so thou the fish shalt see, 

Punish'd to death for their credulity. 

Do this, that thou maist weary be at night, 

So sleepe in spight of thoughts shall close thy sight. 

Let not thy memory things past repeate, 

'Tis easier oft to learne then to forget. 

Therefore keepe distance, and thy love forsake, 

This to effect some journey undertake : 

I know thou wilt wish raine, and faine delay, 

And oft thy doubtfull foote stand at a stay : 

But how much more it greives thee to be gone, 

So much the more remember to go on. 

Name not the miles nor once look backwards home, 

The Parthian by flight doth overcome. 

Some say my rides are hard, I do confesse it, 
I needs must hurt the wound because I dresse it. 
WUt thou bide for thy bodies health vexation ? 


Which straight decayes without foods reparation ? ' 
And wilt not thou do this thy minde to mend ? 
Thy better halfe which did from heaven descend? 
For your more comfort, this one proofe I say, 
" 'Tis harder farre to part then stay away." 
For custome with the hardest things that are, 
Will make us in short time familiar. 

If thou be once abroad there long abide, 
Least comming home into relaps thou slide : 
Then will thine absence bring thee to worse plight, 
As fasting breeds a greater appetite. 

Thinke not by witchcraft to fright love away, 
Pluto himselfe hath bene in love they say, 
Circe us'de this, the wandring knight to stirre, 
Yet many miles were twixt his love and her. 

But he that is so vex'd, that woidd esteeme, 
All paines but cheape, his fi-eedome to redeeme : 
Let him alone summe up his mistresse crimes, 
Thinke how much she hath cost thee many times : 
Tliinke how she usde to sweare, and kindely speake, 
And (faitldesse) streight her word and oath to breake : 
And tliinke, the same night that she thee denies, 
That (greedy) with some servingman she lies. 
Urge this, thy matter never will be spent, 
For sorrow will make any eloquent. 

I Avas in love my selfe the other day, 
And she ungratcfull would not love repay. 
Then grew I the physitian and the sicke, 


And did my selfe recover by this tricke. 

I sayd she was not fair when I did eye her, 

Yet to confesse the truth I did belie her : 

I blam'd her leg and foote when I stood by her, 

Yet to confesse the truth I did belie her : 

Yet I at length (for many times I said it) 

Gainst my owne knowledge to my selfe gave credite. 

Still neere to vertue, vices bordring lie, 
For on both sides of her they seated be : 
Then the good parts thou in thy mistresse know'st, 
To one of those two vices, see thou bow'st. 
Account the fat as swolne, the browne as blacke, 
If she be slender, say, she flesh doth lacke : 
If she be merry, sweare that she is light, 
If modest, thinke it is for lacke of wit. 

This done, thy mistresse, be she not too coy, 
Wherein she hath no gift nor grace, employ : 
If she sing harsh, intreate her stib 1 to sing, 
Hath she fat fingers ? then a lute her bring : 
If she stride wide, then get her forth to walke, 
If speake she ill, then give her cause to talke. 
If she dance hobling, let her not sit still, 
And make her laugh if that her teeth be ill : 
Sometimes into her chamber earely presse, 
Before at all points she herselfe can dresse : 
That which is Venus image when 'tis done, 
Was (while 'twas making) but a rugged stone. 
With cloathes and tires our judgements bribed bee, 


And woman is least part of what we see. 

But least thou too much trust this rule, beware, 

For many (like truth) fairest, naked are. 

Yet venture in, for there is often found, 

The stuffe, whereof their painting they compound : 

And boxes, which unto their cheekes give colour, 

And water that doth wash their faces fouler. 


lITHERTO have I breath'd, now will I 

M My ranging course into a shorter ring. 
When that night comes, (which many nights hath 

lost thee, 
And much sweete bitter expectation cost thee,) 
Whilst thou art heavy, and thy spirits downe, 
And foolishly wise, by repentance growne ; 
Then let thine eyes her body note, till they 
Do something finde amisse, and thereon stay. 
Some may perchance, these precepts, trifles call, 
Who is not help'd by any may by all. 
For all I cannot fit instructions finde, 
Because no two are like in face and minde. 
The same that one doth not mislike at all, 


A great deformity, some others call. 

As that nice youth, that did his love with-draw, 

Because his mistresse he at privy saw. 

Thy love in jeast, that so can whole hecome, 

When Cupid shootes at such he drawes not home. 

Strive thou to be in love with two together, 
So shall thy love be violent in neither : 
For when thy minde by halfes doth doubtfull stray, 
One love doth take the others force away. 
The selfe-same strength, united is more strong, 
Then when to two, it parted, doth belong. 
Great rivers being peece-meale oft divided, 
Do shrink at length to brooks that may be strided. 
This trick hath many help'd, therefore we see, 
Women for spite terme it inconstancie. 
The old love, by succession out is drove, 
In Helen, Pans lost (Eenone's love. 
Shee which hath many sonnes, makes not such mone, 
As she which looseth all her sonnes in one. 
The fastest love a second love undoes, 
For in a crosse-way love himselfe doth loose. 

Although thy heart with fire like ^Etna flame, 
Let not thy mistresse once perceive the same : 
Smother thy passions, and let not thy face, 
Tell thy niindes secrets, while she is in place : 
Thy heart being stormy, let thy face be cleere, 
Nor let loves fire by smoake of sighs appeare. 
Dissemble long, till thy dissembling breed, 


Such use, as thou art out of love indeed. 
I have, from drinking, so myselfe to keepe, 
Laine on a bed and winck'd myselfe asleepe. 
Oft have I seene youths faine themselves in love, 
Till taken at their words they so did prove. 

If she appoint thee any time to come, 
And comming thither find'st her not at home, 
Do not make sonnets at her chamber dore, 
Nor thy repulse as a mischance deplore ; 
Nor to her, when thou meetest her againe, 
Of thine owne wrongs or her untruth complaine. 
For, to be patient, time will easy make it, 
If thou have patience but to undertake it. 

He that from farre his mistresse doth achnire, 
And dares not hope of his having desire : 
His wound, a cure, uncurable will prove, 
For what we thinke forbidden, most we love. 
Distrust not then, till thou heare her reply, 
" Who asketh faintly, teacheth to deny." 
If all these faile, this next will helpe impart, 
And love of others to selfe-love convert. 

Since thoughts of love no longer us possesse, 
Then while we live in health and happinesse, 
Let him that is indebted thinke alone, 
That while he thinkes his day drawes neerer on : 
"Whom a hard father from his will doth let, 
Let him before him still his father set. 
Let him which will a wife with nothing take, 


Thinke from preferment she will keepe him backe : 
None need this physicke of physitions borrow, 
For none but hath some cause for feare or sorrow. 
Let him that deeply loves and is forgone, 
(Like an ill-doer) feare to be alone. 
Use not to silent groves alone to shrinke, 
Nothing love more upholdeth then to thinke : 
Then will thy minde thy mistresse picture take, 
For meni'ry all things past doth present make. 
Then like Pigmalion we an image frame, 
And fall in love devoutly with the same. 
Therefore, then night, lesse dangerous is the day, 
Because then, thoughts newborne, talk sends away. 
Then shalt thou finde how much a friend is worth, 
Into whose breast thou maist thy griefe poure forth. 
Phillis alone frequented th'rivers side, 
Clowded with shade of trees, till there she di'd. 

Who loves must lovers company refuse, 
For love is as infectious as newes. 
By looking on sore eyes, we sore eyes get, 
And fire doth alwaies on the next house set. 
Did not infection to next neighbours flie, 
Diseases would with their first owners die. 

A wound new heal'd will soone break out ajraine, 
Therefore from seeing of thy love refraine : 
Nor will this serve, but thou must shun her kin, 
And even the house which she abideth in ; 
Let not her nurse or chamber-maide once move thee 


Though they protest, how much their niistresse loves 

Nor into any question of her breake, 
Nor of her talk (though thou against her speake). 
He that sayes oft that be is not in love, 
By repetition doth himselfe disprove. 

I would not wish thy love in hatred end, 
Let her that was thy love, be still thy friend. 
But when yee needs must meet, then shew thy spirit, 
Thinke bow she loves some fellow of lesse merite, 
Make not thy selfe against thou seest her fine, 
For this is doubtlesse, of some love, a signe. 
The reason is (as I myselfe have tride) 
Why many men so long in love abide : 
Because if they some kinder looke obtaine, 
They forth-with thinke they are belov'd againe. 
" To our owne flattery soone we credite give, 
" And what we would have true we soone beleeve." 
So they like gamesters leese on more and more, 
Lest they should loose that little lost before. 
But trust not thou their words, and though they swear, 
Yet womens oathes are oather of atheists here. 
Nor as a signe of griefe their weeping take, 
But thinke, their eyes, use soluble doth make. 

Bee still and sullen, beare a grudge in minde, 
Nor tell the cause least she excuses finde : 
He that beginneth with his love to chide, 
That man is willing to be satisfide. 


Beauty is nothing' worth, for if we love, 

The fowl'st she in our judgement faire will prove : 

Therefore the onely meanes by which to try them, 

Is then to judge when fairer do stand by them : 

Conferre their faces and with all their minde, 

Who seeth onely with his eyes is blinde. 

Comparison, the touchstone is, whereby, 

We from the good the better do descry. 

'Tis but a trifle which I meane to speake, 

And yet, loves strength, this trifle oft doth breake. 

All letters written from thy mistresse, burne : 

Such reliques, lovers mindes do backwards turne. 

Though thou canst not behold them while they flame, 

Thy loves last funeral] fire, do thinke the same. 

Take heed least thou into the place resort, 
Which hath bene accessary to your sport : 
Stirre not the ashes which do fire conceale, 
Nor touch the wound which is about to heale. 

Love cannot be maintain'd with povertie, 
His ryot cloth with riches best agree. 
Honour and titles, though nor felt nor seene, 
The chiefest cause of love to some have bene. 
Frequent not plaies, for whiles we others love, 
See acted, we ourselves do parties prove. 
Upon my proofe, musicke and dancing flie, 
For musicke, trees and stones did mollifie : 
And fishes too though they themselves be dumbe, 
To heare Ariom harpe did gladly come. 


And dancing doth in some more passions raise, 
Then reason pacifies in many daies. 
These melt the minde and soft our hearts do make, 
And therehy loves impression apt to take. 

Touch not the poets which of love do sing, 
They us to love by imitation bring, 
Whiles we in them do others love behold, 
Change but the names the tale of us is told. 
What man (but some stiffe clowne) but soone will 

By reading of such bookes, in love with love ? 
Barre them I say, because in them is found, 
A certaine musicke and a wanton sound. 
Unlesse I by Apollo be misled, 
Tis a mutation which most love hath bred. 

Much easinesse doth cloy, and most we set, 
By that which we with doubt from others get : 
Then frame this selfe made rivall, but surmise, 
That cold in middle of her bed she lies. 
Atrides could lye dull by Helens side, 
And was content at Creet from her to bide. 
Untill by Paris she from him was rented, 
Then was his love by others love augmented. 

Lastly, I must some meates forbid the sicke, 
That I in all may be physition like : 
Use not on sweete and juicy meates to feede, 
Of such, the fulnesse, doth lusts hunger breede : 
And stuff d with such, we any do admire, 


"When all their beauty lies in our desire. 
But wine is more provoking farre then meat, 
This heates our bloud and it on rage doth set. 
This drownes our minde and makes it sence obey, 
" Loves wings being wet he cannot five away." 

Sir Thomas Overbvry 






Anno Dom. 1609. 

The Treatie of Peace being then 
on foote. 

Printed. M.DC. XXVI. 


Observations in his Travels upon the State of the 

17. Provinces as they stood Anno Bom. 

1609. the Treaty of Peace being 

then onfoote. 


1 LL things concurred for the rising; and 
maintenance of this state ; the disposi- 
tion of the people, beeing, as mutenous, 
so industrious and frugall ; the nature 
of the countrey, every where fortifiable with water, 
the scituation of it, having behinde them the Baltique 
Sea, which yeelds them all mateiials for ships, and 
many other commodities, and for men, hard before 
them, France, and England, both fearing the Spanish 
greatnesse ; and therefore, both concurring for their 
ayde ; the remotenesse of their master from them ; 
the change of religion falling out about the time of 
their revolt, and now the Marquise of Brandenburgh, 
a Protestant, like to become Duke of Cleve. The 


discontentments of the Low-Countries did first ap- 
peare, soone after the going away of the kings of 
Spaine, while the Dutchesse of Parma governed ; to 
suppresse which beginnings, the Duke of Alva being 
sent, inflamed them more, upon attempting to bring 
in the Inquisition and Spanish decimation, upon the 
beheading Count Home, and Count Egmont, perse- 
cuting those of the religion, and undertaking to build 
cittadels upon all their townes, which hee effected at 
Antwerpe, but enterprising the like at Flushing, 
that towne revolted first and under it began the warre. 

But the more generall revolt of the provinces 
happened after the death of Don Leivis cle Requiesens, 
and upon the comming downe of Don loJin of Austria, 
Avhen all the provinces, excepting Luxenburgh, upon 
the sacke of Antwerpe and other insolencies, pro- 
claimed the Spaniards rebels and enemies to the 
King ; jet the abjuring of their obedience from the 
crowne of Spaine was not in a yeare or two after. 

Holland and Zealand, upon their first standing 
out, offered the soveraigntie of themselves to the 
Queene, then the protection, both which shee neglect- 
ed, and that while the French sent greater ayde, and 
more men of qualitie then wee ; but after the civ ill 
warre began in France, that kept them busie at home, 
and then the Queene, seeing the necessitie of their 
being supported, upon the pawning of Brill and 
Flushing, sent money and men ; and since that, 


most part of the great exploits there have beene done 
by the English, who were commonly the third part 
of the arniie, being foure regiments, besides eleven 
hunched in Flushing, and the Ramekins, and five 
hunched in the Brill. But of late the King of France 
appearing more for them then ours, and paying him- 
selfe the French that are there, they give equall, if 
not more countenance to that nation. But upon 
these two Kings they make their whole dependancie, 
and though with more respect to him that is stronger, 
for the time, yet so as it may give no distaste unto 
the other. 

For the manner of their government ; they have 
upon occasion, an assembly of the generall States, 
like our Parliament, being composed of those which 
are sent from every province, upon summons ; and 
what these enact stands for lawe. Then is there 
besides, a counsell of State, residing for the most part 
at the Rage, which attends daily occasions, being 
rather imployed upon affaires of State then of parti- 
cular justice. The most potent in this counsell was 
Barnayxll, by reason of his advocates of Holland. 
And besides both these, every province and great 
towne have particular counsells of their owne. To 
all which assemblies, as well of the generall States, 
as the rest, the gentrie is called for order sake, but 
the State indeed is democrati call, the merchant and the 
tradesman being predominant, the gentrie now but 


few and poore ; and even at the beginning the Prince 
of Orange saw it safer to relie upon the townes then 
them : neither are the gentrie so much engaged in 
the cause, the people having more advantages in a 
free state, they in a monarchy. Their care in govern- 
ment is very exact and particular, by reason that 
every one hath an immediate interest in the State ; 
such is the equality of justice, that it renders every 
man satisfied ; such the publike regularity, as a 
man may see their lawes were made to guide, not to 
entrappe; such their exactnesse in casting the ex- 
pence of an armie, as that it shall bee equally farre 
from superfluity and want, and as much order and 
certaintie in their acts of warre, as in ours of peace, 
teaching it to bee both civill and rich. And they still 
retaine that signe of a common-wealth yet uncor- 
rupted, Private povertie and publilce weale : for no 
one private man there is exceeding rich, and few 
very poore, and no state more sumptuous in all pub- 
like things. But the question is ; whether this, 
being a free State, will as well subsist in peace, as it 
hath done hitherto in warre, peace leaving every one 
to attend his particular wealth, when feare, while the 
warre lasts, makes them concurre for their common 
safety ; and Zealand, upon the least securitie, hath 
ever beene envious at the predominancie of Holland 
and Utrich, ready to mutinie for religion : and be- 
sides, it is a doubt, whether the same care and sin- 


ceritie would continue, if they were at there consist- 
ence, as appeares yet whiles they are hut in rising. 
The revenew of this State ariseth chiefely from the 
earle of Hollands demaynes, and confiscated chivrch 
livings, the rising and falling of money, which they 
use with much advantage, their fishing upon our 
coasts, and those of Norway, contrihution out of the 
enemies countrie, taxes upon all things at home, 
and impositions upon all merchandizes from abroad. 
Their expences upon their ambassadours, their 
shippings, their ditches, their rampiers and munition, 
and commonly they have in pay by sea and land 
60000. men. 

For the strength ; the nature of the countrie 
makes them able to defend themselves long by land, 
neither could any thing have endangered them so 
much as the last great frost, had not the treatie 
beene then on foot, because the enemy being then 
master of the field, that rendred their ditches, 
marshes, and rivers as firme ground. 

There belongs to that State 20000. vessells of all 
sorts, so that if the Spaniard were entirely beaten 
out of those parts, the Kings of France and England 
woidd take as much paines to suppresse, as ever they 
did to raise them : for being our enemies, they are 
able to give us the law at sea, and eate us out of all 
trade, much more the French, having at this time 
three ships for our one, though none so good as our 


Now that whereupon the most part of their revenew 
and strength depends, is their traffique, in which 
mysterie of state they are at this day the wisest ; for 
all the commodities that this part of the world wants, 
and the Indies have, as spice, silke, Jewells, gold, 
they are become the conveyers of them for the rest 
of Christendome, except us, as the Venetians were of 
old ; and all those commodities that those Northerne 
countries abound with, and these Southerne stand in 
need of, they likewise convey thither, which was the 
auncient trade of the Easterlings : and this they doe, 
having little to export of their owne, by buying of 
their neighbour-countries the former, and selling 
them againe what they bring backe at their owne 
prises, and so consequently live upon the idlenesse of 
others. And to this purpose their scituation serves 
fitly ; for rivers of the Rhene, the Maze, and Skeld 
end all in their dominions ; and the Ballihe sea lies 
not farre from them : all which affoord them what 
ever the great continent of Germany, Russia, and 
Poland yeelds ; then they againe lying betweene 
Germany and the sea, doe furnish it backe with all 
commodities forraigne. 

To remember some pieces of their discipline as 
patternes of the rest ; the watches at night are never 
all of one nation, so that they can hardly concurre to 
give up any one towne. The commissaries are no 
where so strict upon musters, and where he findes a 


company thither hee reduceth thom, so that when an 
armie marcheth the list and the poll, are never fai-re 
disagreeing. Their army is ever well clothed, well 
armed, and had never yet occasion to mutinie for pay 
or victualls. The souldiers commit no where fewer 
insolencies upon the burgers, fewer rohberies upon 
the countrie, nor the officers fewer deceipts upon the 
souldiers. And lastly, they provide well that their 
General! shall have small meanes to invade their 
liberties : for first their army is composed of many 
nations, which have their severall commanders, and 
the commands are disposed by the States themselves, 
not by the Generall. And secondly he hath never 
an implicit commission left to discretion, but, by 
reason their countrie hath no great bounds, receives 
daily commands what to doe. 

Their territory containes sixe entire provinces, 
Holland, Zealand, Utrick, Groninghen, Overiscell, 
and Ariezland, besides three parts of Gelderland, 
and certaine townes in Brabant and Flanders ; the 
ground of which is for the most part fruitful! ; the 
townes no where so equally beautifull, strong, and 
rich, which equality growes by reason that they ap- 
propriate some one staple commodity to every town 
of note ; only Amsterdam not only passeth them all, 
but even Sivill, Lisbone, or any other mart towne in 
Christendome, and to it is appropriated the trade of 
the East Indies, where they maintaine commonly 


forty ships, besides which there goe twice a yeare 
from it, and the adjoyning townes, a great fleete to 
the Baltique sea : upon the fall of Antwerp, that 
rose rather then Middleborough, though it stand at 
the same rivers mouth, and is their second mart 
towne, to which is appropriated our English cloth. 

Concerning the people, they are neither much 
devout, nor much wicked, given all to drinke, and 
eminently to no other vice ; hard in bargaining, but 
just, surly, and respectlesse, as in all democracies, 
thirstie, industrious and cleanly, dishartened upon 
the least ill successe, and insolent upon good ; inven- 
tive in manufactures, cunning in traffique, and ge- 
nerally for matter of action, that naturall slownesse 
of theirs sutes better, by reason of the advisednesse 
and perseverance it brings with it, then the rashnesse 
and changeablenesse of the French and Florentine 
wits : and the equality of spirits which is among them 
and the Swissers, renders them so fit for a demo- 
cracie, which kinde of government, nations of more 
stable wittes, being once come to a consistent great- 
nesse, have seldome long endured. 


Observations upon the State of the Arch- 
Dukes Countrie, 1609. 

S soone as I entrcd into the Arch-Dukes 
countrie (which begins after Lillow) 
presently I beheld workes of a province, 
and those of a province distressed with warre ; the 
people heartlesse, and rather repining- against their 
governours, then revengeful! against the enemies, 
the bravery of that gentrie which was left, and the 
industry of the merchant quite decayed ; the hus- 
bandman labouring only to live, without desire to 
be rich to anothers use ; the townes (whatsoever 
concerned not the strength of them) ruinous ; and 
to conclude, the people here growing poore with lesse 
taxes, then they flourish with on the states side. 

This warre hath kept the king of Spa hie busie 
ever since it began (which some 38. yeares agoe) 
and spending all the money that the Indies, and all 
the men that Spaine and Italy coidd affoord, hath 
withdrawne him from persevering in any other enter- 
prise ; neither could he give over this, without for- 
going the meanes to undertake any thing hereafter 
upon France or England, and consequently the hope 


of the Westerne monarchy. For without that handle 
the mynes of Peru, had done little hurt in these 
parts, in comparison of what they have. The cause 
of the expensefulnes of it, is the remotenesse of those 
provinces from Spaine, by reason of which, every 
soiddier of Spain or Italy, before he can arrive 
there, costs the king an hundred crownes, and not 
above one of ten that arrives prooves good ; besides, 
by reason of the distance, a great part of the money 
is drunke up betwixt the officers that convey it and 
pay it. The cause of the continuance of it, is, not 
only the strength of the enemy, but partly by reason 
that the commanders themselves are content the war 
shall last, so to maintaine and render themselves 
necessaries, and partly because the people of those 
countries are not so eager to have the other reduced, 
as willing to be in the like state themselves. 

The usuall revenew of those provinces which the 
Arch-Duke hath, amounts to 1200000. crownes a 
yeare, besides which, there come from Spaine every 
moneth to maintaine the war, 150000. crownes. 
It was at the first 300000. crownes a moneth, but it 
fell by fifties to this at the time when the treaty be- 
gan : Flanders paycs more toward the warre then all 
the rest, as Holland doth with the states. There is no 
Spaniard of the counsell of state, nor Governour of 
any province, but of the counsell of warre, which 
is only active ; there they only are, and have in their 


hands all the strong townes and castles of those 
provinces, of which the Governours have but only the 

The nations of which then' armie consists, are 
chiefly Spaniards and Italians, emulous one of 
another there, as on the other side the French and 
English, and of the country, chiefly Burgundians 
and Wallons. The Popes letters, and Spinola's in- 
clination keepe the Italians there, almost in ecpiality 
of command with the Spaniard himselfe. 

The Governors for the King of Spaine there suc- 
cessively have bin the D. of Alva, Don Lewis de 
Requiesens, Don IoTin d Austria, the Prince of Par- 
ma, the Arch-Duke Ernestus, the Cardinal! Andrew 
of Austrich, and the Cardinall Albert, till he maried 
the Infanta. 

Where the dominion of the Arch-Duke and the 
States part, there also changeth the nature of the 
country, that is, about Antwerp : for all below being 
flat, and betwixt medow and marsh, thence it begins 
to rise and become champion, and consequently the 
people are more quicke and spiritfull, as the Bra- 
banter, Flemming, and Wallon. 

The most remarkable place in that side is Ant- 
werp (which rose upon the fall of Bruges) equally 
strong and beautifull, remaining yet so, upon the 
strength of its former greatnesse ; twice spoyled by 
the Spaniard, and the like attempted by the French. 


The citadell was built there by the D. of Alva, but 
renued by the Prince of Parma after his 18. moneths 
besieging it, the towne accepting a castle rather then 
a garrison to mingle among them. There are yet 
in the towne of citizens 30000. fighting men, 600. 
of which kept watch nightly, but they allowed neither 
cannon upon the rampier, nor megazins of powder. 
In the castle are 200. peeces of ordnance, and com- 
monly seven or eight hundred souldiers. Flanders 
is the best of the seventeene provinces, but the havens 
thereof are naught. 

Observations on the State of France, 1609. 

under Henri/ the Fourth. 


AVING seene the forme of a common- 
wealth and a province, with the different 
effects of warres in them, I entred 
France, flourishing with peace, and of monarchies 
the most absolute, because the King there, not only 
makes peace and warres, calls and dissolves parlia- 
ments, pardoneth, naturalizeth, innobleth, names the 
value of money, presseth to the warre ; but even 
makes lawes, and imposes taxes at his pleasure : 
and all this he doth alone : for as for that forme that 
his edicts must be authorized by the next court of 


Parliament, that is, the next court of soveraigne 
justice ; first the Presidents thereof are to he chosen 
by him, and to bee put out by him ; and secondly, 
when they concurre not with the King, he passeth 
any thing without them, as he did the last edict for 
the protestants : and for the assembly of the three 
estates, it is growne now almost as extraordinary as 
a generall counsell ; with the losse of which their 
liberty fell, and when occasion urgeth, it is possible 
for the King to procure, that all those that shall bee 
sent thither, shall be his instruments : for the Duke 
of Guise effected as much at the assembly of Bloys. 
The occasion that first procured the King that 
supremacie, that his edicts should be lawes, was, the 
last invasion of the English, for at that time they 
possessing two parts of France, the tlu'ee estates 
could not assemble, whereupon they did then grant 
that power unto Charles the Seventh during the 
warre ; and that which made it easie for Lewis the 
Eleventh and his successors to continue the same, 
the occasion ceasing, was, that the clergie and 
gentrie did not runne the same fortune with the 
people there, as in England ; for most of the taxes 
falling only upon the people, the clergie and gentrie 
being forborne, were easily induced to leave them to 
the Kings mercy. But the King having got strength 
upon the pesants, hath beene since the bolder to 
invade part of both their liberties. 


For the succession of this monarchic, it hath sub- 
sisted without intermission these 1200. yeares, under 
three races of Kings. No nation hath heretofore 
done greater things abroad in Palestine and Egipt, 
besides all parts of Europe ; but for these last 400. 
yeares, they have only made sallies into Italie, and 
often suffered at home. 

Three hundred yeares the English afflicted them, 
making two firnie invasions upon them, and taking 
their King prisoner ; the second greatnesse of Chris- 
tendome, next the Emperour, being then in competi- 
tion betwixt us and them ; and to secure themselves 
against us, rather then the house of Austria, as it 
then stood, they chose to marry the heire of Bretaigne 
before that of Burgundy. And for this last hundred 
yeares, the Spaniard undertaking them, hath eaten 
them out of all but France, and endangered that 
too. But for this present, France had never, as 
France, a more entire greatnesse, though it hath often 
beene richer. For since the warre the King is only 
got afore hand, the country is but yet in recovering, 
the war having lasted by spaces 32. yeares, and so 
generally, that no man but had an enemie within 
three miles, and so the countrey became frontier all 
over. Now that which hath made them, at this time, 
so largely great at home, is their adopting into them- 
selves the lesser adjoyning nations, without destruc- 
tion, or leaving any marke of strangenesse upon 
them, as the Bretons, Gascoignes, Provincalls, and 


others which are not French; towards the which 
unions, their nature, which is easie and harhorous to 
strangers, hath done more then any lawes could have 
effected, hut with long time. 

The King (as I said) enjoying what Lewis the 
II. did gaine, hath the entire soveraigntie in hiniselfe, 
because hee can make the Parliament doe what he 
please, or else doe what he please Avithout them. 
For the other three estates ; the church is there 
very rich, being estimated to enjoy the third part 
of the revenew of France, but otherwise nothing so 
potent as else-where, partly because the Inquisition 
is not admitted in France, but principally because 
the Popes ordinary power is much restrayned there, 
by the liberties which the French church claymeth ; 
which liberties doe not so much enfranchize the 
church it selfe, as conferre the authoritie the Pope 
looseth upon the King, as first fruites, and the dis- 
posing of all spirituall preferments. And by reason 
of this neutralitie of authoritie, the church-men suffer 
more there, then either in England, where they 
wholly depend upon the King, or in Spaine and 
Italle, where they wholly subsist by the Pope ; be- 
cause the Pope is not able totally to support them, 
and the King takes occasion ever to suppresse them, 
as beeing not entirely his subjects : and to him they 
pay yearely both the tenth of all their tithe, and of 
all their temporal! land. 


The gentrie are the oncly entire body there, which 
participate Avith the prerogatives of the crowne ; for 
from it they receive priviledges above all other men, 
and a kinde of limited regality upon their tenants, 
besides reall supply to their estates, by governments 
and pensions, and freedome from tallies upon their 
owne lands ; that is, upon their demaines, and what- 
soever else they manure by their servants ; but so 
much as they let to tenants is presently tallie-able, 
which causeth proportionable abatement in the rent ; 
and in recompence of this, they owe to the King the 
Ban and the Arriereban ; that is, to serve him and 
his Lieutenant three moneths within the land at their 
owne charges. And as in warre they undergoe the 
greatest part of the danger, so then is their power 
most perremptorie above the rest, whereas in time of 
peace, the King is ready to support inferiour persons 
against them, and is glad to see them to waste one 
another by contention in law, for feare they grow 
rich, because hee fore-sees, that as the nobilitie onely 
can doe him service, so they onely misapplyed can 
doe him harme. 

The auntient gentrie of France was most of it 
consumed in the warres of Godfrey of Bulloigne, and 
some in those of Saint Lewis, because upon their 
setting out they pawned all their Feifs to the church, 
and few of them were after redeemed ; by reason 
whereof the church possesseth at this day the third 


part of the best Feifs in France ; and that gentrie 
was after made up by advocates, financiers, and 
merchants innobled, which now are reputed auntient, 
and are dayly eaten out againe and repayred by the 
same kinde of men. 

For the people ; all those that have any kinde of 
profession or trade, live well ; but for the meere 
peasants that labour the ground, they are onely 
spunges to the King, to the church and the nobilitie, 
having nothing to their owne, but to the use of them, 
and are scarce allowed (as beasts) enough to keepe 
them able to doe service ; for besides their rent, they 
pay usually two thirds to the King. 

The manner of government in France, is mixt, 
betwixt peace and warre, being composed as well of 
military discipline, as civill justice, because having 
open frontiers and strong neighbours, and therefore 
obnoxious to sodaine invasions, they cannot (as in 
England) joyne ever peace and security together. 

For the military part, there is ever a Constable 
and a Marshall in being, troupes of horse and regi- 
ments of foot in pay, and in all provinces and places 
of strength, governours and garrisons distributed, all 
which are meanes for the preferment of the gentry ; 
but those as they give security against the enemy, 
so when there is none they disturbe the enjoying of 
peace, by making the countries taste somewhat of a 
province. For the gentry finde a difference betwixt 


the Govcrnours favour and disfavour, and the souldiers 
commit often insoleneies upon the people. 

The governments there are so well disposed by 
the King, as no Governour hath meanes to give over 
a province into the enemies hand, the commands 
thereof are so scattered : for the Governour commands 
the country, and for the most part the chiefe towne ; 
then is there a Lieutenant, to the King, not to him of 
the same, and betwixt these two there is ever jealousie 
nourished ; then hath every towne and fortresse 
particular Governours, which are not subaltern to 
that of the province, but hold imediately from the 
Prince, and many times the towne hath one Gover- 
nour and the castle another. 

The advantages of Governours (besides their pay 
from the King) are presents from the country, dead 
payes, making their megazins of come and powder 
more then they need at the Kings price, and where 
they stand upon the sea, overseeing of unlawful] 
goods : thus much in peace : in warre they are worth 
as much as they will exact. Languedoc, is the best, 
then Bretaigne. Province is worth by all these 
means to the D. of Guise 20000. crownes a yeare ; 
but Province only he holds without a Lieutenant. 

Concerning the civill justice there, it is no where 
more corrupt nor expencefull. The corruptnesse 
of it proceeds, first by reason that the King sells the 
places of justice at as high a rate as can bee honestly 


made of thorn ; so that all thriving is left to corrup- 
tion, and the game the King hath that waves, tempts 
him to make a multitude of officers, which is another 
burthen to the subject. Secondly, the presidents 
are not hound to judge according to the written law, 
hut according to the equitie dravvne out of it, which 
libertie doth not so much admit conscience, as leave 
wit without limits. The expencefulnesse of it ariseth 
from the multitude of lawes, and multiplicitie of 
formes of processes, the which two both beget doubt, 
and make them long in resolving. And all this 
cJiiquanerey, as they call it, is brought into France 
from Rome, upon the Popes comming to reside at 

For the strength of France, It is at this day the 
greatest united force of Christendome ; the par- 
ticulars in which it consists are these : the shape of 
the countrey, which beeing round, no one part is 
farre from succouring another ; the multitude of good 
townes and places of strength therein are able to 
stay an army, if not to waste it, as Metz did the 
Emperours ; the masse of treasure which the King 
hath in the Bast He ; the number of arsenals dis- 
tributed upon the frontiers, besides that of Paris, all 
which are full of good amies and artillerie : and for 
ready men, the 5. regiments bestowed up and down 
in garrisons, together with the 2000. of the Guard ; 
the troupes of ordinary aud light horse, all ever in 



pay ; besides their gentrie all bred souldiers, and of 
which they think e there are at this present 50000. 
fit to beare armes : and to command all these, they 
have at this day the best Generalls of Christendome, 
which is the only commodity the civill wars did leave 

The weaknesse of it are, first the want of a suf- 
ficient infantry, which proceeds from the ill distribu- 
tion of their wealth ; for the peysant, which con- 
taines the greatest part of the people, having no 
share allowed him, is heartlesse and feeble, and con- 
sequently unserviceable for all military uses, by 
reason of which, they are first forced to borrow ayde 
of the Sivissers at a great charge, and secondly to 
compose their armies for the most part of gentlemen, 
which makes the losse of a battaile there almost 
irrecoverable. The second is the unproportionable 
part of the land which the church holds, all which 
is likewise dead to militarie uses. For, as they say 
there, The church will loose nothing, nor defend 
nothing. The third is the want of a competent 
number of ships and gallies, by reason of which de- 
fect, first the Spaniard overmasters them upon the 
Mediterranean, and the English and Hollander upon 
the ocean, and secondly it renders them poore in for- 
raine trade, so that all the great actions of Christen- 
dome for these fifty yeares, having beene bent upon 
the Indies, they only have sate idle. The fourth is 


the weaknesse of their frontiers, which is so much 
the more dangerous, because they are possessed, all 
but the ocean, by the Spaniard : for Savoyhath. beene 
alwaies as his owne for all uses against France. The 
last is the difference of religion among themselves, 
which will ever yeeld matter of civill dissention, and 
consequently cause the weaker to stand in neede of 
forraigne succours. The ordinarie revenew of the 
King, is, as they say now, some 14. millions of 
crowns, which arise principally from the demaines 
of the crowne, the gabell of salt, tallies upon the 
countrie, customes upon the merchandize, sale of 
offices, the yearely tithe of all that belongs to the 
church, the rising and falling of money. Fines and 
confiscations cast upon him by the law ; but as for 
wardships, they are only knowne in Normandy. His 
expence is chiefely ambassadours, munition, building, 
fortifying, and maintaining of gallies. As for ships 
when he needs them, he makes an embarque ; in 
pay for souldiers, wages for officers, pentions at home 
and abroad, upon the entertaining his house, his 
state, and his private pleasures. And all the first, 
but the demaynes were granted, in the beginning, 
upon some urgent occasion, and after by Kings made 
perpetuall, the occasion ceasing ; and the demaynes 
it selfe granted, because the King should live upon 
their owne without oppressing their subjects. But 
at this day, though the revenew bee thus great, and 


the taxes unsupportable, yet doe they little more 
then serve for necessary publike uses. For the 
King of Spains grcatnes and neighbourhood, forceth 
the King there to live continually upon his guard ; 
and the treasure which the Spaniard receives from 
his Indies, constraines him to raise his revenew thus 
by taxes, so to be able in some proportion to beare 
up against him, for feare else he should be bought 
out of all his confederates and servants. 

For the relation of this State to others, it is first 
to be considered, that this part of Christendome is 
ballanced betwixt the three Kings of Spaine, France, 
and England, as the other part betwixt the Russian, 
the Kings of Poland, Sweden, and Denrnarke. For 
as for Germany, which if it were entirely subject to 
one monarchy, would be terrible to all the rest, so 
being devided betwixt so many Princes, and those of 
so equall power, it serves only to ballance it selfe, 
and entertaine easie warre with the Turke, while the 
Persian with-holds him in a greater. And every 
one of those first three, hath his particular strength, 
and his particular weakenesse : Spaine hath the ad- 
vantage of both the rest in treasure, but is defective 
in men, his dominions are scattered, and the con- 
veyance of his treasure from the Indies lyes obnoxious 
to the power of any nation that is stronger by sea. 
France abounds with men, lyes close together, and 
hath money sufficiently. England beeing an iland, 


is hard to be invaded, abounds with men, but wants 
money to imploy them. For their particular weak- 
nesse : Spaine is to be kept busie in the Low-Coun- 
tries : France is to bee afflicted with Protestants, and 
Em/land in Ireland. England is not able to subsist 
against any of the other hand to hand, but joyned 
with the Lowe-Countries it can give lawe to both 
by sea, and joyned with either of them two it is able 
to oppresse the third as Henry the Eight did. 

Now the only entire body in Christendome 
that makes head against the Spanish monarchy, is 
France ; and therefore they say in France, that the 
day of the mine of France, is the eve of the ruine of 
England: and thereupon England hath ever since 
the Spanish greatnesse, enclined rather to maintaine 
France rather then to ruine it ; as when King Francis 
was taken prisoner, the King of England lent money 
towards the payment of his ransome : and the late 
Queene (when the leagers, after the Duke of Guise 
his death, had a designe to cantonize France) though 
offered a part, woidd not consent. So then this 
reason of state, of mutuall preservation, conjoyning 
them, England may be accounted a sure confederate 
of France, and Holland by reason it partly subsists 
by it ; the Protestant Princes of Germany, because 
they have countenance from it against the house of 
Austria, the Protestant Swissers for religion and 
money ; the Venetians for protection against the 


Spaniard in Italy : so that all their friends are 
either Protestants or enclyning, and whosoever is 
extreme Catholike, is their enemie, and factors for 
the Spanish monarchy, as the Pope, the Cardinalls 
for the most part, and totally the Jesnites, the 
Catholike Princes of Germany, and the Catholicks of 
England and Ireland. For the Jesnites, which are 
the ecclesiasticall strength of Christendome, France, 
notwithstanding the many late obligations, hath cause 
to despaire of them : for they intending, as one Pope, 
so one King, to suppresse the Protestants, and for 
the better support of Christendome against the 
Twice, and seeing Spaine the likelier to bring this 
to passe, they follow the neerer probability of effecting 
their end. 

No addition coidd make France so dangerous to 
us, as that of our Lowe- Countries : for so it were 
worse then if the Spaniard himselfe had them 
entirely. As for their hopes of regaining Italie, it 
concernes the Spaniard immediatly rather then us. 
Concerning the state of the Protestants in France, 
during peace they are protected by their edict : for 
their two agents at court defend the generall from 
wrong, and their Chambres-impartyes every par- 
ticular person : and if troubles should arise, some 
scattered particulars might be in danger, but the 
maine body is safe, safe to defend themselves, though 
all France joyne against them, and if it breake out 


into factions, the safest, because they are both ready 
and united. 

The particulars of their strength are, first their 
townes of surety, two of which command the river of 

Secondly, their scituation, the greatest part of 
them lying neere together, as Poictou, Zanningtonge, 
high Gascoigne, Languedoc, and Daulphin, neere 
the sea, so consequently fit to receive succours from 
abroad, and remote from Paris, so that the qualitie 
of an armie is much wasted before it can approach 

The third, is the sufficiency of their present 
Governours, Bidloigne and Desdeguiers, and other 
second commanders. And for the Princes of the 
blood, whom the rest may, in shew, without emula- 
tion obey, when they come once to open action, 
those which want a party will quickly seeke them. 

The last, is the ayde they are sure of from for- 
raine Princes : for whosoever are friends to France 
in generall, are more particularly their friends. 

And besides, the Protestant partie being grown e 
stronger of late, as the Low -Countries, and more 
united, as England and Scotland, part of that 
strength reflects upon them ; and even the King of 
Spaine himselfe, which is enemie to France in gene- 
rall, would rather give them succour, then see them 
utterly extirpated : and yet no forraine Prince can 


ever make further use of them, then to disturbe 
France, not to invade it himselfe. For as soone as 
they get an edict with better conditions, they turne 
head against him that now succoured them, as they 
did against us, at New-haven. 

Concerning the proportion of then number, they 
are not iibove the seventeene or eighteenth part of 
the people, but of the gentlemen there are 6000. of 
the religion ; but since the peace they have increased 
in people, as principally in Paris, Normandy, and 
Dautyhin, but lost in the gentrie, which losse com- 
meth to passe, by reason that the King when he 
findes any gent, that will but hearken, tempts him 
with preferment, and those he findes utterly obstinate, 
suppresseth : and by such meanes bee hath done 
them more harme in peace, then both his prede- 
cessors in warre. For in all their assemblies bee 
corrupts some of their ministers to betray their coun- 
sell in hand ; and of the 100 and 6000. crowns a 
yeare, which he paies the Protestants to entertaino 
their ministers, and pay their garrisons, bee hath 
gotten the bestowing of 16000. of them upon what 
gentleman of the religion he pleaseth, when by that 
meanes he moderates, if not gaines : and besides, 
they were wont to impose upon him their two depu- 
ties which are to stay at court, but now he makes 
them propose sixe, out of which he chuseth the two, 
and by that obligeth those ; and yet notwithstanding 


all this, in some occasions lice makes good use of 
them too. For as towards England he placeth none 
in any place of strength but firme Catholikes ; so 
towards Spaine and Savoy he often gives charge to 
Protestants, as to la Force in Beame, Desdegaiers and 
Boisse in Bresse. 

Concerning the King himselfe, hee is a person 
wonderfidl both in war and peace : for his acts in 
warre, hee hath manumized France from the Span- 
iard, and subdued the league, being the most 
dangerous plot that hath bin layd, weakening it by 
armes, but utterly dissolving it by wit, that is, by 
letting the Duke of Guise out of prison, and capitu- 
lating with the heads of it every one apart, by which 
meanes hee hath yet left a continual] hatred among 
them, because every one sought, by preventing other, 
to make his conditions the better ; so that now there 
remaines little connexion of it amongst the gentrie, 
onely there continues some dregges still among the 
priests, and consequently the people, especially when 
they are angred with the increase and prosperitie of 
the Protestants. 

For his acts of peace, hee hath enriched France 
with a greater proportion of wooll, and silke, erected 
goodly buildings, cut passages betwixt river and 
river, and is about to doe the same bewixt sea and 
sea, redeemed much of the mortgaged demaynes of 
the crowne, better husbanded the money, which was 


wont to bee drunke uppe two parts of it in the officers 
hands, got aforehand in treasure, amies and munition, 
increased the infantrie, and supprest the unpropor- 
tionablc cavalry, and left nothing undone but the 
building of a navie. 

And all this may bee attributed to liimselfe oncly, 
because in a monarchy, officers are accordingly active 
or carelesse, as the Prince is able to judge and dis- 
tinguish of their labours, and withall to particijiate of 
them somewhat himselfe. 

Sure it is that the peace of France, and somewhat 
that of Christendome it selfe, is secured by this 
Princes life : for all titles and discontents, all factions 
of religion there suppresse themselves till his death ; 
but what will ensue after ; what the rest of the house 
of Bourbon will enterprise upon the Kings children, 
what the house of Guise upon the house of Bourbon, 
what the league, what the Protestants, what the 
Kings of Spaine, and England, if they see a breach 
made by civill dissention, I chuse rather to expect 
then conjecture, because God hath so many wayes 
to turne aside from humaine fore-sight, as hee gave 
us a testimony upon the death of our late Queene. 

The countrey of France, considering the quantitie, 
is the fairest and richest of all Christendome, and 
containes in it most of the countries adjoyning. 
For Picardie, Normandie, and Bretaigne, resemble 
England ; Languedoc, Spaine, Province, Italic, and 
the rest is France. 


Besides, all the rivers that passe through it, end 
in it. It abounds with corne, wine, and salt, and 
hath a competency of silke ; but is defective in 
wooll, leather, mettals, and horses ; and hath but 
few very good havens, especially on the north side. 

Concerning the people ; their children at first 
sight seeme men, and their men children ; but who 
so, in negotiating, presumes upon appearance, shall 
bee deceived, compassionate towards their owne 
nation and countrey ; loving to the Prince, and so 
they may have liberty in ceremony, and free accesse 
to him, they will be the better content that hee shall 
be absolute in matter of substance ; impatient of 
peace any longer then whiles they are in recovering 
the ruines of warre ; the presentnesse of danger in- 
flames their courage, but any expectation makes it lan- 
guish ; for the most, they are all imagination, and no 
judgement, but those that prove solid, excell ; their 
gentlemen are all good outward men, good courtiers, 
good souldiers, and knowing enough in men and 
businesse, but meerly ignorant in matters of letters, 
because at fifteene they quit bookes, and begin to 
live in the world, when indeed a mediocritie betwixt 
then' forme of education and ours would doe better 
then either. No men stand more punctually upon 
their honours in matter of valour, and which is 
strange, in nothing else ; for otherwise in their 
conversation, the custome and shifting and over- 
speaking, hath quite overcome the shame of it. 







The Originall being his own 
hand writing. 


OD made one part of man of earth, the 
basest element, to teach him humility. 
His soule proceeded from the bosome 
of himselfe, to teach him goodness, 
and that if he cast his eyes downwards nothing is 
viler, hut if he look up to heaven, he is of a matter 
more excellent than the angells : the former part 
was a type of Adam, the second of Christ, which 
gives life to that which was dead in it selfe. 

2. Words are not the difference of good men and 
bad, for every man speakes honestly ; therefore how 
noble a thing is vertue, when the worst men dare 
not profess any thing but that : very wise men and 
very fooles do little harm : it is the mediocrity of 
wisdome that troubleth all the world. 

3. Some men never spake a wise word, yet doe 
wisely ; some on the other side do never a wise deed, 
and yet speake wisely. 


4. Charles the Fifth Emperor, is said to be a wise 
Prince, because he seldome spake in his affaires 
words but of a double construction : but I think such 
speech becomes a King noe more than glide-eyes 
does his face, when I think he looks on me, he sees 
me not. It is the intention makes the lye not the 

5. Vertue is easier than vice, for the essentiall 
difference betwixt vertue and vice is truth and fals- 
hood ; and 'tis easier and less pains to tell truth, then 
a lye : and for vices of the sences, custome is all in 
all ; for to one that hath lived honestly, 'tis as much 
pain to committ sinn, as for another to abstaine from 

6. Knowledge is a great stepp to goodness. There 
is noe wisdome without honesty, all else is but art 
and cunning, which only makes good the present, 
but lookes to the farthest end. Truth hath but one 
way and one face. 

7. A nobleman of Scotland coming to him, making 
a petition in the behalfe of a poore servant of his in 
that country for a protection : My Lord, said he, I 
came not to the crown of Scotland by conquest, to 
give it what laws I list, but by descent, and if I 
do not governe it accordingly, I should be a tyrant. 
I found noe such thing there as a protection, and 
surely I will grant none ; I would to God there had 
never been any in England alsoe, and therefore I 


will do what I can to take them away here, where 
they have heen too frequent rather than to giant 
them where they never were used. 

8. It may he I will love God more than I speake of, 
hut I will be sure never to love him less, neither will 
I add sinn to sinn, by cloaking the first. 

9. I will never beleive that man whose honesty 
relyes only upon oathes, nor that religion which de- 
pends only upon miracles. 

10. You cannot name any example in any heathen 
author but I will better it in Scripture. 

11. I love not one that will never be angry, for as 
he who is with sorrow, is without gladness, so he that 
is without anger, is without love ; give me the heart 
of a man, and out of that all other his actions shall 
be acceptable. 

12. The way to make vices less than they are, is 
to make punishments for them, greater than they 
deserve, for so the laws grow to contempt and to be 
neglected. Many words makes me distrust the matter, 
for I my selfe when I cannot do a man good, then 
give I many words to sattisfie, but when I can doe 
good, I use but few. 

13. A learned Papist, and an ignorant, is of two 

14. The Papists religion, is like Homers Ilyades of 
the Seige of Troy, or Virgills ./Eniades of the begin- 
ning of Pome ; both of them had a foundation of 


truth : so had the Papists the Byble, hut they have 
added so much, that the first truth is almost lost. 
The preservation of the Bihle is miraculous, that it 
should remain pure and intire after it had passed 
the hands of so many infidells which sought to 
destroy it, and of so many hereticks that sought to 
pervert it to their own advantage. 

15. The devill when he cannot have the whole, 
seeks ever to get one part of the soule, either the will, 
or the understanding, which he may easiest come by ; 
as in Protestants, the will ; in Papists the under- 
standing. I do not think the greatest clarks are 
nearest heaven ; much of their knowledge is super- 
fiuous, for Bellarmyne makes four hundred questions 
of faith, not ten of which toucheth our salvation to 
understand : we are not departed further from the 
church of Pome than they are from their first selves ; 
the end of the law is to punish sinn, when it is com- 
mitted ; [but to keep it from being committed it 
cannot ;] as the Pope, who thinks by allowing forni- 
cation, to avoid adultery. 

16. Noe indifferent gesture is so seldome done 
without sinn as laughing, for 'tis comonly raised, 
upon things to be pittyed, and therefore man only can 
laugh, and he only can sinn. There are degrees of 
men in respect of one another ; in respect of God all 
are equal], all are to use like reverence to him, all 
are like beggers at Gods doore. 


1 7. The Count of Gondcmore the day he tooke his 
leave of the King at Greenwich, to go home for 
Spaine, upon the occasion of the match, his last 
words were to leave an impression of the advantages 
that would arise from that happy conjunction to both 
Kingdomes in his ma ,les breast, and therefore told 
what great things Spaine had done in Christendome, 
in the time of Phillip the Second, who in his latter 
dayes, being an infirm Prince, had at once to doe 
with the greatest Christian Princes, and how he of 
himselfe only, maintained wars in France, Germany, 
the Low Countryes, Hungary, and against the Turks, 
what a navy he sent into England, and after into 
Ireland, intending the totall conquest of them both, 
and yet he lost nothing of his own territories in all 
his life ; so that England and Spaine being joyned by 
this match, might by the union of their powers give 
lawes to whole Christendome besides. The King 
made answer with a sober countenance, My Lord, it 
is true which you say, but it is a thing I have ever 
observed in every nation, each [have] their proper in- 
clinations. Observe a Frenchman, and be he never so 
wise in his greatest affaires, within a short time he 
will fetch a slightfrisk and be casting capriolls to shew 
himselfe a right Frenchman ; and consider a Span- 
yard, be he never so wise, grave, and temperate in 
his treaties, before he leaves he will shew some odd 
rodomontado or other ; and I take it, Sir, (said the 


King) you are of Galatia. The Embassador comes to 
him and caught him in his armes transported with 
excess of laughing, and aware, per dies, he wold never 
forget that true and ingenious reply, and it should 
be the first thing he would aquaint the King his 
master with. 

18. I should think it a signe that God loved me 
not, if I killed a man by chance. 

19. I will not call those women whores that paint, 
I'le boldly say 'tis the badge of a whore. 

20. There arc two things that keep a woman chast, 
conscience and honour ; the one within, the other 

21. Men in arguing are often carryed by the force 
of words farther asunder than their questions was at 
first ; like two ships going out of the same haven, 
their landing is many times whole countryes distant. 

22. All that ever wrote of Christ, said he was an 
honest man, they had so much natural] sight as to 
see his civill goodness, but they wanted the super 
naturall gift to see his Godhead. 

23. Any sinn done in jest, is a greater offence 
than when it is done in earnest. 

24. King Henry the Eighth was an ill natur'd 
Prince to execute so many whome he bad so highly 
favour'd : I can never hate the person I have once 
placed my affection upon ; I may hate some vices of his, 
which may lessen my favour, but never bend my heart 


against him, nor undoe him, unless he undoe him- 

25. God's decrees goes alwayes before his know- 
ledge, for else would his knowledge exceed his power, 
but with man it is otherwyse ; he must first know, and 
after decree ; the reason is, that which man knows is 
without him, and that which he doth is within him- 
selfe, and is part of his own nature. 

26. God hath called many from heresies to be 
teachers in the church, but never any of a bad life, but 
only to a particular salvation ; for that is more against 
nature. Who denyes a thing he even now spake, is 
like him that looks in my face and picks my pocket. 

27. In my conversation, there is two things which 
I ever took care of, I never in my life transgressed, to 
scandall a man's valour or honesty, nor a woman's 
chastity, unless I knew that by common fame. 

28. To make women learned, and foxes tame, 
hath the same operation, which teacheththem to steale 
more cuningly, but the possibility is not equall, for 
when it doth one good, it doth twenty harme. 

29. I remember well the matter of a book, seldome 
the page ; the first is the memory of the rationall, 
the latter of the sensative soule. 

30. I wonder not so much that women paint them- 
selves, as that when they are painted, men can love 

31. In clothes, I would have the fashion choose 
the man, and not a man the fashion. 


32. The art of phisitians is very imperfect, for I 
doubt not but for every disease there is in nature a 
severall symple, if they could find it out, so that their 
compounds do rather shew their ignorance than 

33. He that writeth an history and giveth credit to 
all outward reports, the author may be wise, but the 
work shall be foolish. 

34. Not only the deliverance of the Jewes 'till they 
came to the Land of Promise, but even their dayly 
preservation was miraculous, for there was never 
any noted plague in Jerusalem, though it stood in an 
hott clymate, which, had it been, it would have en- 
dangered the whole nation, it being to assemble 
thither thrice every yeare of necessity. 

35. God accepts the intent before the deed, for if I 
doe justice because I would be counted a just King, 
and not for God's glory, not because I stand answer- 
able to God if I doe otherwise, or if I doe punnish a 
man rightly, but withall sattisfie my own malice, these 
are an abbomination. If I give ahnes only for my 
reputations safe, these are wicked deeds, because 
there is nullum medium, whatsoever is without faith 
is sinn. 

36. I never knew that Puritane that spake well of 
any man behind his back, or took delight to doe good to 
any, being naturally covetous of his purse, and liberall 
of his' tongue, so that he is alwayes an ill neighbour, 
and a false freind. 


37. I would most unwillingly do that ill, which lay- 
not in my power to mend. 

38. God hath distributed his benefits so equally, 
that there is noe country which excelleth not all other 
in some things or other, so as it borrows, it lends ; 
likewise in men there is noe one so excelleth in one 
thing, but hath need of anothers witt in some other, 
and from these two proceed all trafick and society. 

39. God never fades of his word, but where he 
threatens ill to man, as in punnishing Ninevye ; but 
alwayes performes where he promisseth good, that or 
better, as he promissed to Abraham and his seed, tem- 
poral!, earthly blessedness, and instead of that gives 
them everlasting and heavenly benediction. 

40. Most heresies have proceeded from mingling 
philosophy with religion, from that and policy have 
all the Papists errors risen ; and Christ tells them 
that flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdome of 

41. Noe man shall do evill that thinks before he 
undertakes what the end will be, not what his pas- 
sions would have it to be. 

42. I have been often deceived, yet will I never 
leave to trust, neither shall the falshood of some make 
me think none honest. 

43. Wisdome is moderation, and the goodness of 
things is the mean, a man may be overwise and over- 


44. The wisedome of a King is cheifly seen in the 
election of his officers, as in places which require a 
peculiar sufficiency, not to choose them that he 
affects most, hut to use every one according to his 
proper fitness. 

45. ~Noe country can he called rich wherein there is 
warrs, as in the Low Countryes : although there he 
much money, the soldiers have it in pay from the 
governors, the hoors have it for victuals, the governors 
from them againe in taxes, so there is noe center, 
nor noe certain owner. 

46. Time is the essence of many laws, so that a 
King may doe well at divers times, both in making 
and abrogating the same law, the present occasion is 
the reason of the law. 

47. The Queen was angry with me for receiving 
many men whome she had discountenanced, when 
indeed all their fault was, love to me : if I had done 
otherwise, I had clone dishonestly : yea if I had been 
her subject, I might have done as much. 

48. At his ma ts coming- into England, an English 
Nobleman presented himselfe to him, protesting 
what a faithful! servant he had been to Queen Eliza- 
beth, his dead mistress, who used to permitt him 
(having the liberty as he called it of a free man [in 
her court]) to frecpient all companyes, and when he 
could learn any thing which he thought rltt to informe 
her ma ty of, she was pleased to accept his intelligence, 
and so was desirous to make the like offer to his ma ty 


to doe the same service, if his pleasure was to imploy 
him. The King replyed (My Lord) I never had 
use of any such service to betray my subjects, and 
therefore you may save that labour ; that which is 
mine is my owne, that which is my subjects, theirs, 
my prerogative cannot alter. 

49. We alwayes choose to imitate the worst, which 
shews our naturall corruption ; as let two nations 
meet, either will change with other their worst 
fashions, but never mingle in the best. 

50. I would strive to be like the Papists in things 
they did well, for unity sake. 

51. Parents may forbid theii children an unfitt 
marriage, but they may not force their consciences 
to a fitt. 

52. 'Tis easier to reclaime a man from any heresie 
then to convert an atheist to the truth ; for to beleive 
is the first degree common to all religions, and an 
atheist is to be brought so far before he come to 

53. A travelling preacher, and a travelling woman 
never comes to any good at all. 

54. It is a great mercy of God, that in all the Pa- 
pists heresies, the Trinity hath been preserved pure. 

55. The Church of Korne fell at first from her 
purity to infirmities, then to corruptions, then into 
errors, then into heresies, and lastly into abbomina- 
tions, Gfod still punishing sinn with sinn. 


56. Types are the images of the mind, which God 
allowed the Jews to keep them from images of the 
sence, and to shew them that his worship was in 
spirit and truth. 

57. I desire not to multiply my articles of faith be- 
yond necessity, but rather let them he few and firme. 

58. There are two kind of types, some of which are 
of the foundation of faith, others of anologie of faith : 
the first are rules of faith, the latter doth illustrate 
faith received, and are hut in the manner of allego- 

59. Whensoever I make such a warr, as the King 
of France doth, wherein there is such tyranny used to 
his own subjects, as well of the Protestants of the 
one side, as of his own soldiers drawn to such 
slaughter on the other side, surely I will put my selfe 
in a monastry all my dayes after, and repent me of 
my shins, that have brought my subjects to such 

60. AKing ought to be a preserver of his people, as 
well of their fortunes as lives, and not a distroyer of 
his subjects : 'tis true when he commands they must 
obey ; yea and if it be in an ill quarrcll, he must 
answer that to God alone, and is not accountable to 
any ; but shame befall that King that warrs wrong- 

61. I am so carcfull of injuring any of my subjects, 
that in my progress, if any complaine of hurt done 


them by any of my court, I see either punishment 
executed on the offenders or satisfaction made to the 

62. All God's miracles are above nature, but never 
against it, for that were to distroy his own work, 
which he cannot do, but he may excell it ; therefore 
the miracle of the Papists' transubstantiation being 
against nature is false. 

63. Tis one of God's blessings that we cannot fore- 
know the hour of our death, for a time fixed, even 
beyond the possibility of living, woidd trouble us 
more than this uncertainty doth. 

64. I'll never trust any of my subjects of England 
or Scotland, that out of discontent will goe and serve 
the King of Spaine. 

65. Any sinn which is only an offence against my 
selfe, I may be induced to pardon, but those sinns 
which imediatly touch the honour of God, as witch 
craft, and such like, I dare not yet take upon me to 
forgive it, but yet if I knew there were any that had 
fal'n that way, and hath since repented and turned 
from that wickedness, I should rather choose not to 
take notice, than to acquitt them. 

66. We cannot conceive eternity but by faith, we 
cannot know what God is, and of that ignorance 
cometh all sinn ; for sure if we knew him well we 
should not offend him : a man which understands well 
may speake, not eloquently, but never darkly. 


67. A Jesuite may die among the Indians, meerly 
for Christ crucified, before he come to any point of 
controversy, and he a martyr. 

68. At what time the Gospcll did flourish, all kind 
of learning did also abound, and upon the decay there- 
of, there came alwayes a vaile of darkness upon the 
face of the earth ; the reason is, knowledge is a part 
of religion, but error and superstition is the safer 
by ignorance. 

69. I never noted the relations of the devils and 
witches talking together, but about foolish things. 

70. A father cannot injure a sonn, or a King his 
subjects, so that they may shake off their natural! 
obedience, or to be their revengers : if any thing be 
amiss, all they can do is prcecibus et laerimis, non 
vi et armis. Cowardize is the mother of cruelty, 
'twas only feare made tyrants put so many to death 
to secure themselves. 

71. The fashion amono- the Romans for killino; 
themselves was falsly called fortitude ; for 'twas only 
to prevent the power of fortune, when indeed vertue 
lies within quite out of her reach, nor can any man 
be overthrown but of himselfe, and so most truly 
were they subdued when they fled to death for a 
refuge against death. 

72. Colonell William Stuart in Scotland, came to 
the King in great earnest (the Kingbeingasleep in his 
bed) and suddenly awaked him, desireing him in all 


hast, to provide for danger, for that the old Earle 
of Angus, was up in arms, and with great forces was 
upon the way to surprize the court and him. The 
King without any disturbance at all laid himselfe 
againe to sleep, saying, If it be true, I am sorry for 
the old man that he will thus undoe himselfe, I 
woidd faine he should due well, but I see it will not 
be ; this rumor was presently after confirmed by the 
Earle of Orkney, and } T et notwithstanding he went a 
hunting according to his former purpose, and played 
at tennis after ; at length the report proved false, and 
all was nothing. 

73. A wise King ruleth not by rumor, but pursues 
his own way without distraction. 

74. Those Princes that seeke to secure themselves 
by blood, shall find, the more they kill, the more 
they shall need to kill. 

75. He that is vaine and foolish of himselfe, be- 
comes more so, by the addition of learning. Men of the 
high understanding, as they do many things above 
the common straine, so they often fall into greater 
errors than those of meaner capacity, which in all 
their actions will rather do nothing faidty then any 
thing extraordinary, being of a better temper than 
the former. 

76. A lye of error is a fault of credulity, not of 
falshood, but a presumptuous lye is that which a 
man makes as God made the world, of nothing. 


77. Of all the number of men slaine in the warrs, 
not the tenth man hath been killed fighting, hut flying. 

78. The persons of all men are to he alike equall 
to us, and our hate or love should goe according to 
their vertues, or vices. The bonds of kindred should 
only command us in all civill dutyes, but not our 
judgement, and particular injuries should only make 
us hate the particuler deeds, but not the doer in 
general 1. 

79 . 'Tis better enj oy civility with multitude of pride 
(which are corruptions commonly following it) than 
barbarisme without these, for tho' the fruit of the 
former be worse, yet the thing it selfe is better. 

80. The French Embassador, Count dc Tilliers, 
coming unto the King upon the rumour of Count 
Mansfields entring into France, and the Duke of 
Bouloignes joyning with his forces to attempt the 
aid of the Protestants against the French King. 
Tilliers said, he wondered much why the Duke would 
enter into such a dangerous attempt by warr, as those 
troubles woidd bring him unto, being now seaventy- 
five years old, when wise men would end their dayes 
in peace and safety, rather than to choose the 
hazard of death, and the infamy of a traytor. 

81. The King replyed, that he saw no reason why 
the Duke de Bouloigne might not as well take arms 
for the maintenance of the true religion at the age 
of seaventy-five, as the new constable Desdigniers to 


change his religion at eighty-four, and to fight 
against his conscience for a constableship. 

82. All extremities come round to one end, the 
simple obedience of the Papist, or the non obedience 
of the Puritane ; the one hreeds confusion, the other 
ignorance and security. 

83. If I were of the age of old Desdigniers is of, 
though I thought then I was of the false religion, I 
would not change it ; for I might justly think that 
age might •weaken my judgement, and I might 
douht my selfe if extreame age would councell me ; 
against that religion which I maintained when I was 
in the strength of my judgement and understanding, 
and therefore I had little reason, or none at all, to 
alter my manly opinion to a decrepid. 

84. That which we call witt, consists much in 
quickness and tricks, and is so full of lightness, that 
it seldome goes with judgement and solidity ; hut 
when they doe meet 'tis commonly in an honest man. 

85. We seldome see a man excellent in the mathe- 
maticks, languages, or heraldry, or any of those 
little arts, hut he is as defective in greater matters. 

86. Men as often fall out upon small things as 
upon great, because after the first contradiction they 
maintain themselves, and not the argument. 

87. Astronomie was first taught by God, for noe 
man coidd have discovered it, and therefor the first 
must needs have been the excellentest in that. 


88. At his first coming into England, an Embas- 
sador was sent hither from the then Emperor Ro- 
dalph, desiring the King to maintain three thousand 
men in his warrs, against the Turks : his ma ty asked 
him, why he did not solicite Spaine, and France, seeing 
their countries lay nearer, and so might doe more 
good, or receive more hurt, and therefore fitter for 
that assistance : the Embassador said, 'twas true, 
but his ma ties example, being a more remote Prince, 
would more effectually work upon them, than his 
own reason. The King replyed, he loved not to anger 
Princes, and that proportion demanded would do no 
more hurt to the Turk, than fleas to mens skinns ; 
but if other Princes would go soundly to work to 
attempt the subvertion of the whole Turkish empire 
by some brave and thorough enterprize, he would 
with ah his heart bear them company ; for great 
attempts may do good, by a distraction, but poore 
ones doe but stir up anger and hurt themselves. 

89. No man gains by warr, but he that hath not 
wherewith to live in peace. 

90. The people still desire warr till they have it, 
and they desire it presupposing good success, but one 
overthrow, an ill journy, or taxes imposed to main- 
tain it, they require peace as much. In giveing 
pardons, I doe allwayes suppose my selfe in the 
offender, and then judge how far the like occasion 
might have tempted me. 


91. There is in essentiall things a certain truth, 
and imutability in things indifferent, neither good nor 
ill, but as the Church, or State, creates it. 

92. Being desired by a nobelman to grant a dis- 
pensation to one of his ma ,les most eminent chaplaines 
to hold two benefices without distance, his ma ty denyed 
it, saying, I must answer it to God, if the people be 
not fed by their Pastour, and therefore I will never 
grant a dispensation in that kind ; but the Xobleman 
replyed and said, his ma' y had done it to other men. 
If I did, God forgive me, he was a knave that mis- 
informed me, and I a foole for not better encpiiring. 

93. Preachers are like to whores, that may be said 
to say and doe any thing for their advantage. 

94. There are noe people which turn their religion 
so soon as Puritans and Jesuites ; for zeale tran- 
sports them more than knowledge, and having but 
a glimering of the same, when they come to be better 
taught, they are ready to make religion turn the way 
of their apprehensions, and so upon fancy are sub- 
ject to alteration. 

95. All corruption is nothing but dissolution, and 
the last dissolution of every thing is into the earth, 
which shews that from thence we began. 

96. When I hear musick, first I am sattisfied with 
the sound of it, but after I have heard it a while, I 
then looke what the meaning of it is, what it signifies, 
and 'tis but aire. Many men are wise in a narrow 



compass, which are not so in a larger, 'tis dealing in 
many affaires which tries a man. 

97. All governments in their constitutions, and in 
their practice tend to monarchy, and where ever the 
better sort of people hear ride, there is alwayes some 
one that resembles a King amongst them ; yea, 
though in their State of Venice, their Duke is as it 
were a dead name, yet were it impossible that their 
own wealth should long withold it selfe without him. 

98. Good lawes must be made by a few men and 
reasonable, and not by a multitude. 

99. That a theife shall be punished is God's law ; 
but after what manner, is left to the government of 
every State. 

100. Sir Henry "Wotton sending a letter to his 
ma ty from Venice, related how the Prince of Conde 
sued for the title of Altess from the Synode of Venice, 
which was refused ; the King answered, that the 
Prince had good reason to sue for the same, and the 
Seigniory had done ill to deny it him, considering all 
the world knew how he deserved it ; it being his 
custome to raise himselfe upon every man's tayle he 
could get upon ; and by that custome he hoped to see 
himselfe elevated by the just justice of God, to as 
high a dignity as the gallows at last. 

101. There is noe good fancy in long speeches, 
for in speaking much it is impossible to shim little 
errors, therefore short and pithy is the best forme 
for business. 


102. 'Wheresoever Kings have many people, they 
have many friends. 

103. My Lord of Bucklew said the border men 
were not valiant at the first onsett, but after, they 
proved good men ; the King replyed, 'Tis true, 
borderers fight to live, and not to dye. 

104. Ainanwould have thought the invention of 
guns would have ruined mankind, but God bath 
made it a meanes to save mens lives, for since that 
time men have retired themselves within walls, and 
few sett battailes have been fought. 

105. A knowing man is hott in arguing for truths 
sake ; an ignorant man for opinion sake. 

106. The Church is to be believed in the inter- 
pretation of the Scriptures, but not directly against 
it, for when it differs from that, 'tis noe longer the 

107. If a man have committed a publick scandal- 
ous sinn, he ought not only to satisfie his conscience 
with repenting it, but withall to repaire the scandell 
by professing it. 

108. The same sentence with divers relations may 
be both holy and devilish. 

109. Incest is so odious, because there are a few 
forbidden thee ; and all the world beside open for 

110. Outward civility, and inward heresie, is harder 
to be converted to a better religion than an Indian. 


111. Before Christ came, it was enough for the 
Patriarchs to believe only. Since his coming, we 
must not only believe, but understand. 

112. In disputeing with a Papist, one must main- 
taine the grounds of Divinity, and seeke to destroy 
the building upon it ; but against Puritans, one 
must destroy the grounds and maintaine the build- 
ing ; that is to say, the major position is false in the 
Puritans, and the mynor in the Papists. 

113. If God gave not the kingdome of Israel to 
Said and his posterity, what tooke he from him upon 
his offence, for he enjoyed it all his life ? 

114. The Chancellor Metelyn of Scotland, was 
suspected by the King to be in conspiracy against 
him ; the King one day called him unto him, telling 
him how just grounds he had to suspect him, and 
bad him be more dutyfull hereafter. His answer 
was, that to his knowledge those attempts intended 
to be made were nothing but fitt and necessary to 
be done. The King replyed, if those words you have 
spoken were uttered by a foole, they were to be 
laughen at, but being spoken by him, thought a 
wise man, were worthy of hanging. The Chancellor 
submitted himselfe hereupon, and dyed within a 
very few dayes after. 

115. There are three kinds of wisdome usual in 
Kings, a sanctified wisdome, a pollitick wisdome, 
(which often straines itselfe to a less evill to avoid a 


greater) and a wisdome of falshood. The first i3 
both lawful! and necessary, the second is lawfull but 
not necessary, the third is neither. 

116. Colonel Gray coming to him out of Ger- 
many in a garb of a soldier, buckl'd up in a buff 
jerkin, a great belt and a huge sword, and a case of 
pistolls ; the King said, that this towne was so well 
fortifyed, that if it were well victualled, it seem'd 

117. My ends are still constant, howsoever my 
wayes to them may seem to differ according to oc- 

118. There are many things which my selfe would 
not doe, and yet, in my judgement, think lawfidl to 
be done ; but where there is a broad way besides, 
what need I tread nere the borders of vice. 

119. I will not reward any man in matter of 
justice, for that is not mine, but God's and the 

120. The art of governing is a deep mistery, and 
noe man can judge who is fitt to be a King, till he 
see him one. 

121. The people do never esteem truly of the 
present state, for some thing in it they must mislike 
whilst it is at present ; and yet such and such men 
either to be good or bad, their censure is almost in- 

122. I desire to live no longer than I am accounted 


an honest and reasonable man, of honest and rea- 
sonable men ; nor longer to be a King, than I use 
my power to maintain reason, and not to overthrow 

123. I will never offer to bring a new custome 
upon the people without the peoples consent, but 
only like a good phisitian tell them what is a-miss ; 
and after, if they will not concur to amend it, yet I 
have discharged my part. 

124. At Oking, being shewed a gentleman's 
house, a great part whereof was burn't by the Queens 
servants when she was entertain d there, for which 
the Queen never gave him satisfaction ; one said, 
that if it had been done by a common person, he 
had been bound to satisfaction by law. The King 
said, whatsoever a private man ought to doe, by law, 
a King is bound to doe by conscience. 


Page 7, line 5 ; D. T.] 
^ BOB ABLY the same person who wrote 
Essaies Politiche and Morall, Lond. 
1608, 12mo. His name is unknown. 

Page 8, line 31 ; C. B.] Christopher 
Brooke, the author of Eglogues ; dedi- 
cated to his much loved Friend Mr. Will. Broivn, of 
the Inner Temple, Lond. 1614, 8vo. &c. 

Page 10, line 23 ; A cleane contrary way]. This ex- 
pression seems to have been proverbial. 

" Come heare, lady muses, and help mee to sing, 

Come love mee where as I lay ; 
Of a duke that deserves to be made a king, 
The cleane contrary ivay, 
O the cleane contrary icay." 

Sloane MS. No. 826. 
" "Pis you must perfect this great work, 

And all malignants slay, 
You must bring back the king again 
The cleane contrary way" 

A. Brome's Songs and Poems, 
1664, p. 162. 
Many other instances might be quoted. 

Page 10, line 30; Westoii}. One of the persons exe- 
cuted for the murder of Overbury. See Life. 

280 NOTES. 

Page 11, line 14 ; W. S.] According to a MS. note 
of T. Park's, these initials stand for William Ship- 

Page 13, line 12 ; W. B. Int. temp.'} William Browne, 
the celebrated author of Britannia's Pastorals. He 
was a student of the Temple at the same time with 

Page 13, line 25 ; B. G. Medii Temp.'] Probably 
Bernard Griffin, the author of a collection of sonnets, 
entitled Fidessa, more Chaste then Kinde, Lond. 1596. 
The latter has an address, " To the Gentlemen of the 
Innes of Court," which strengthens the supposition. 

Page 14, line 23 ; Cap. Tho. Gainsford]. The name 
of this writer occurs to some verses in Add. MS. 15, 
227, in the British Museum. See also Collier's 
Poetical Decameron. 

Page 16, line 8 ; Io. Fo.] Undoubtedly John Ford, 
the celebrated dramatist. He became a member of 
the Middle Temple November 16, 1602, and was in 
all likelihood well acquainted with Overbury, who 
was of the same Society. 

Page 16, line 23 ; R. Ca.] In a copy of Overbury's 
Characters, formerly belonging to Octavius Gilchrist, 
that Gentleman has filled up these initials, B,[ichard] 
Ca[rew], the author of The Survey of Cornwall. 

Page 18, line 15 ; E. G.] Query, Edmund Gayton ? 

Page 20, line 31 ; I. F.] John Fletcher, the cele- 
brated dramatist ? Le Neve, speaking of the Elegies 
prefixed to Overbury's Wife, says, " Amongst which, 
two, from the initials, and the general satire on the 
sex, appear to be by Fletcher." Cursory Remarks on 
the English Poets, p. 28. 

Page 24, line 25 ; W. Stra.] According to Park's 
MS. note, William Stradling. 

Page 25, line 1 ; Or the Choyce of a Wife]. This 
little poem is always quoted as Overbury's ; but Mr. 

NOTES. 281 

Collier considers it " an unclaimed poem." See 
the Bridgewater Catalogue, p. 223. 

Page 33, line 12 ; A Wife]. This poem is printed 
in Capell's interesting volume entitled Prolusions; 
or Select Pieces of Antient Poetry, 1760, 8vo. A col- 
lation of the first, fourth, and ninth editions is there 
given. The differences are so trilling, that it was 
not thought worth while to transfer them to these 

Page 46, line 1 ; The Authour's Epitaph]. In the 
rare " Portraiture of Sir Thomas Overbury," engraved 
by R. Elstracke, these lines are given upon a scroll, 
which the unfortunate knight is in the act of penning. 
This portrait is of such rarity, that at General Dowdes- 
well's sale, Sir Mark M. Sykes purchased an impres- 
sion for fifty pounds. On the dispersion of the Sykes' 
Collection, it realized the large sum of seventy-four 
guineas ! 

Page 49, line 5 ; the voider], i. e. " a basket or tray, 
into which the relics of a dinner or other meal, the 
trenchers, &c. were swept from the table with a wooden 
knife." — Dyce. 

Page 49, line 14; the Knight of the Sun]. A well- 
known hero of romance. 

Page 50, line 7; napery~\. i. e. linen of any kind, but 
chiefly table linen ; from nappe, French. 

Page 50, line 14 ; Her next part], i. e. Her marriage 

Page 50, line 16; her wrie little finger bewraies 
carving, &c] The passage in the text sufficiently shows 
that carving was a sign of intelligence made with the 
little finger, as the glass was raised to the mouth. 
See the prefatory Letter prefixed to Mr. R. G. 
White's Shakespeare's Scholar, 8vo. New York, 1854, 
p. xxxiii. Mr. Hunter (New Illustrations of Shakes- 
peare, i. 215), Mr. Dyce (A few Notes on Shakespeare, 

282 NOTES. 

1853, p. 18), and Mr. Mitford {Cursory Notes on 
Beaumont and Fletcher, &c. 1856, p. 40), were unac- 
quainted with this valuable illustration of a Shake- 
spearian word given by Overbury. 

Page 53, line 19 ; a picke-tooth in his hat\. The use 
of toothpicks was formerly regarded as an affectation 
of gentility. It was an Italian invention introduced 
here about the year 1600. Lucio, in Fletcher's 
Woman Hater, 1607, says, " Sir, but that I do pre- 
sume upon your secrecy, I would not have appeared 
to you thus ignorantly attired, without a toothpick in 
a ribband, or a ring in my bandstring." Act v. sc. 1. — 
Dyce's Beaumont and Fletcher, i. 78. 

Page 55, line 21 ; dares not salute a man in old clothes, 
or out of fashion] . "It is also but opinion that a proud 
coxcombe in the fashion, wearing taffata, and an ill- 
favored locke on his shoulder, thinkes all that weare 
cloth, and are out of fashion, to be clownes, base, and 
unworthie his acquaintance." — Peacham's Truth of 
our Times, 1638, p. 57. 

Page 55, line 25 ; awhifler]. The derivation of this 
word is from whiffle, to disperse as by a puff of wind, 
to scatter. A whiffler, in its original signification, 
evidently meant a staff-bearer, and not a fifer, as is 
generally supposed. See several communications on 
this subject in the GentlemarHs Magazine for 1851. 

Page 55, line 25 ; a torche-bearer]. Torch-bearers 
appear to have been the constant attendants upon 
our old masks. "He is just like a torche-bearer to 
maskers; he wears good cloaths, and is ranked in 
good company, but he doth nothing." — Westward 
Hoe, 1607. 

Page 56, line 21 ; weares the Bible in the streetes]. 
i. e. attached to the girdle ; by no means uncommon 
at the period when Overbury wrote. Again, in his 
character of " A Button-Maker of Amsterdam," our 

NOTES. 283 

author says, " his zeal consists much in hanging his 
Bible in a Dutch button." 

Page 57, line 10 ; the tune of fortune], i. e. Fortune 
my foe, one of the most celebrated ballad tunes of the 
sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Its history may 
be read in Mr. W. Chappell's Popular Music of the 
Olden Time, p. 162. 
Page 57, line 17; musk comfects]. i.e. sweetmeats. 
Page 59, line 10; bought in S. Martines~\. i. e. St. 
Martin's-le-Graud, a famous place for lace and jewel- 
lery of an inferior kind, in the seventeenth century. 
"Webster, Massinger, and other of the old dramatists, 
allude to it. Butler has the following passage : — 
" "Pis not those paltry counterfeits 
French stones, which in our eyes you set, 
But our right diamonds, that inspire 
And set your am'rous hearts on fire ; 
Nor can those false St. Martins beads, 
Which on our lips you place for reds, 
And make us wear like Indian dames, 
Add fuel to your scorching flames." 

Hudibras, ii. 367, ed. Nash. 
Page 64, line 4 ; Pomanders']. A kind of perfume, 
generally made in the form of a ball, and worn about 
the person. See HalliweU's Archaic Dictionary, 636. 
Page 64, line 25 ; Cut-purse]. The purse was for- 
merly worn, suspended by a silken or leather strap, 
outside the garment. Hence the miscreant, whom we 
now denominate a pickpocket, was then properly a 

Page 65, line 1 ; yellow stockings] . Much worn in 
the first half of the seventeenth century. Shake- 
speare says, " Remember who commended thy yellow 
stockings." — Twelfth Night, Act ii. sc. 5. 

Page 65, line 3 ; pantofles]. i. e. slippers or pattens. 
" A wooden pantofle or patin." — Flobio. 

284 NOTES. 

Page 65, line 8 ; Make a leg]. A leg here signifies a 
bow. Decker says, " A jewe never weares his cap 
threadbare with putting it off"; never bends i' th 
hammes with casting away a leg, &c." — Gull's Horne- 
booke, p. 11. 

Page 65, line 14; Dor~], A drone-bee. 

Page 65, line 19 ; JBooke of good manners']. Perhaps 
an allusion to The Book of Good Manners, translated 
out of the French of Jaques le Graunt, and printed 
by Caxton in 1487. Similar works were issued at a 
later date. 

Page 65, line 26 ; speaks Euphues], " An affected 
style of speaking and writing introduced at the close 
of the sixteenth century by Lilly, who set the fashion 
in works entitled Euphues, or the Anatomy of Wit, and 
Euphues and his England, which are replete with ab- 
surd jargon and bombast. These books were com- 
pletely the fashion for the time, and their immortality 
vainly predicted by the author's contemporaries." — 
Halliwell's Archaic Dictionary, p. 341. 

Page 66, line 2 ; Birchin-lane]. Inhabited in our 
author's time, by " the fr^perers or upholders, that 
sold old apparel and household stuff." See Stow's 
Survey of London, Thoms's ed. p. 75. 

Page 66, line 9; the boares head]. Anciently the 
first dish on Christmas-day, and was ushered in with 
its peculiar and appropriate Carol. Hollinshed says 
that in the year 1170, upon the day of the young 
Prince's coronation, King Henry the First " served 
his sonne at the table as sewer, bringing up the bore's 
head with trumpets before it, according to the man- 
ner." — Chronicles, iii. 76. 

Page 66, line 13 ; galliard]. A popular old dance, 
the music of which consisted of two, and sometimes 
of three strains. It derived its name from Gallia, 
the country from whence it came. C. Simpson says, 

NOTES. 285 

" This (according to its name) is of a lofty and frolick 
movement ; the measure of it, always a tripla, of three 
minims to a time." — A Compendium of Practical Mu- 
stek, 3rd edit. 1678, p. 117. 

Page 67, line 13 ; partlets]. A partlet is usually de- 
fined to be " a ruff or band worn by women." Baret 
says "a neckerchief or partlet." — Triple Dictionarie, 
1573. But according to the authorities cited by Sir 
Frederick Madden (Privy Expenses of the Princess 
Mary, note p. 255), " the pai'tlet evidently appears to 
have been the corset, or habit-shirt, worn at the pe- 
riod, and which so commonly occurs in the portraits 
of the time, generally made of velvet, and ornamented 
with precious stones." 

Page 77, line 26 ; ammeW]. An old form of the word 

Page 78, line 16; Amadis tie Guide, nor the Knight 
of the Sunne]. Heroes of romance very often coupled. 
Snarl, in Shadwell's Comedy of The Virtuoso (Act i.) 
speaks of " rhiming plays, with scurvy heros, worse 
than the Knight of the Sun, or Amadis de Gaul." 

Page 78, line 20 ; the Spanish pike']. Needles, intro- 
duced here from Spain, were so called. 

Page 78, line 24 ; the long bill] . " A kind of pike or 
halbert, formerly carried by the English infantry, and 
afterwards the usual weapon of watchmen. Soldiers 
armed with bills were sometimes called bills. A bill- 
hook is still called a bill in some parts of the country." 
— Halliwell's Archaic Dictionary, p. 176. Of course 
our author puns upon the word. 

Page 79, line 8 ; cast down into helfj. A tailor s hell 
means the place where a tailor deposits the cloth, 
stuff, or silk, which he purloins from his employers. 
" By metaphor 

All know the cellarage under the shop-board 

He calls his hell," &c. — Dyce's Middleion, v. 172. 

286 NOTES. 

Page 80, line 17 ; March beere"]. i. e. beer brewed in 
March. Gascoigne, in his Delicate diet for daintie 
mouthde droonkavds, 1576, says, " The Almaines with 
their small Renish wine are contented ; or rather then 
faile, a cup of beere may entreate them to stoupe. But 
we must have March beere, dooble beere, Dagger ale, 
Bragget, Renish wine, White wine, French wine, 
Gascoyne wine, Sack," &c. 

Page 81, line 7; A pair e of Organs'], i. e. an organ 
with more pipes than one. Jonson, Heywood, and 
other of our older poets, always use the term pair in 
the sense of an aggregate, and as synonymous with 
set : thus we have " a pair of chessmen," " a pair of 
beads," " a pair of cards," " a pair of organs," &c. 
When speaking of a flight of stairs, we often say a 
pair of stairs. Therefore, this ancient form of ex- 
pression, although obsolete in most cases, is still in use 
at the present day. See Hopkins and Rimbault on 
The History and Construction of the Organ, 8vo. 1856, 
p. 40. 

Page 82, line 24 ; An eyesse]. A young hawk re- 
cently taken out of the nest. 

Page 82, line 24 ; a ramage~\. " (Fr.) Boughes, 
branches, or any thing that belongs thereto. Hence 
a ramage hawh, or falcoun, is such a one as hath been 
long among the boughs and branches, preying for 
himself, a hagard." — Blount's Glossographia, 12mo. 

Page 82, line 25 ; an intermewer]. The name given 
to a hawk from the first change of her coat till she 
turn white. 

Page 83, line 8 ; haggard~\. A wild hawk; one that 
has preyed for herself before being taken. 

Page 83, line 13; bussard]. A great drinker. — 
Halliwell's Archaic Dictionary. 

Page 84, line 14; Barragouin]. i.e. " Barettor, 

NOTES. 287 

Barotour (French), who sets men at defiance." — 
Coles Dictionary, 1717. "In law, a common wrangler." 
— Blount's Glossographia. 

Page 85, line 1 ; pickadels]. Written also pickadil, 
peccadillo, and pickardil. " Pickadilles, the severall 
divisions or peeces fastened together about the brimme 
of the collar of a doublet, &c." — Cotgrave's Diet. 
" A kinde of stiffe collar, made in fashion of a band." 
— Blount's Glossographia, ed. 1656. Gifford says, 
" the term is simply a diminutive of picca {Span, and 
Ital.) a spear-head, and was given to this article of 
foppery, from a fancied resemblance of its stiffened 
plaits to the bristled points of those weapons." — Jon- 
son's Works, v. 55. 

Page 85, line 2 ; ruff"]. A kind of frill, formerly 
much worn by both sexes. Its antiquity, according 
to Taylor, the Water Poet, does not extend further 
back than Henry VIII. 

" Ruffs only at the first were in recpiest 

With such as of ability were best ; 

But now the plain, the stich'd, the lae'd, and shag, 

Are at all prices worn by tag and rag." 

Taylor's Works, part 2, p. 167. 
Page 85, line 22 ; Merlin s prophesies}. Merlin was 
a Welsh magician, who lived about the year 500. 
Spenser says, 

" It Merlin was, which whylome did excell 
All living wightes in might of magicke spell." 
Merlin's Prophecies was, until very recently, a 
popular chap-book. 

Page 85, line 23; Crosse-roiv]. "The alphabet 
was called the Christ-cross row, some say because a 
cross was prefixed to the alphabet in the old primers ; 
but as probably from a superstitious custom of writing 
the alphabet in the form of a cross, by way of charm." 
— Xares. 

288 NOTES. 

Page 86, line 11 ; heaven and hell], " Heaven and 
Hell were two mean ale-houses, abutting on West- 
minster Hall. Whalley says that they were standing 
in his remembrance. They are mentioned, together 
with a third house called Purgatory, in a grant which 
I have read, dated in the first year of Henry VII." — 
Gifford's Jonson, iv. 174. See also Cunningham's 
Hand-Book of London, p. 224, edit. 1850. 

Page 88, line 28 ; Erra Pater}. The reader will 
recollect Butler's lines : — 

" In Mathematics he was greater 
Than Tycho Brake, or Erra Pater." 

Hudihras, pt. i. canto 1. 

Page 89, line 1 ; Rodulphus Agricola~\. A learned 
priest, born in the year 1442, at Bafflen, a village in 
Priesland. He is said to have been a prodigy in 
literature and science. He died at Heidelberg in 

Page 89, line 3 ; Systenuis logicke doth excell Keeker- 
mans}. Bartholomew Keckerman was born at Dant- 
zic, in Prussia, 1571, and educated under Fabricius. 
He was eminently distinguished for his abilities, and 
wrote upon logic, rhetoric, ethics, politics, physics, 
metaphysics, geography, astronomy, &c. He died, 
literally worn out with scholastic drudgery, at the 
early age of 38. 

Page 89, line 16 ; A Tinker]. The author of this, 
and the following characters, was a Mr. J. Cocke. In 
an address prefixed to John Stephens' New Essayes 
and Characters, &c. Lond. 1631, this worthy says, "I 
am heere enforced to claime three characters follow- 
ing the Wife ; viz. the Tinker, the Apparatour, and 
Almanack-maker, that I may signify the ridiculous 
and bold dealing of an unknowne botcher," &c. These 
characters were first added to the sixth edition of 
Overbury's Wife in 1615. 

NOTES. 289 

Page 90, line 1 ; alwaies furnisht ivith a song~\. 
Samuel Ilarsnet, in his Declaration of Egregious Im- 
postors, 1604, thus speaks of the musical qualifications 
of tinkers : — " Lustie Jolly Jenkin, by his name should 
seeme to be foreman of the motley morriee : he had 
under him, saith himselfe, forty assistants ; or rather 
(if I mistake not) he had beene by some old exercist 
allowed for the master setter of Catches or Roundes 
used to he sung by Tinkers, as they sit by the fire, with 
a pot of good ale between their legges : Hey, jolly, 
Jenken, I see a knave drinking, &c." A number of 
tinkers' songs are still in existence ; for instance, 
" Joan's Ale 's new, or the Jovial Tinker ;" " Tom 
Tinker;" "The Tinker of Turvey;" "Clout the 
cauldron," &c. See more on this subject in Mr. 
Chappell's Popular Music of England. 

Page 90, line 7 ; since the terrible statute, &c] A 
curious Account of the Gypsies in England occurs in 
The Art of Juggling or Legerdemaine, by S. R. 
[Samuel Rid] Land. 1612, 4to. The writer says, 
" This kind of people, about a hundred years ago, 
beganne to gather a head, as the first heere, about the 
Southerne parts. And this, as I am informed, and can 
gather, was their beginning : — Certain Egyptians 
banished their country (belike not for their good 
conditions) arrived heere in England, who for quaint 
tricks and devices, not known heere at that time 
among us, were esteemed and had in great admiration, 
insomuch that many of our English loyterers joined 
them, and in time learned their craftie cosening. The 
speech which they used was the right Egyptian lan- 
guage, with whom our Englishmen conversing at last 
learned their language. These people continuing 
about, the country, and practising their cosening art, 
purchased themselves great credit among the country 
people, and got much by palmistry and telling of for- 

290 NOTES. 

tunes, insomuch they pitifully cosezend poor country 
girls, both of money, silver spoons, and the best of 
their apparelle, or any goods they could make." Rid 
farther states they had a leader of the name of Giles 
Hather, who was termed their King ; and a woman 
of the name of Calot, was called Queen: "these 
riding through the country on horseback and in 
strange attire, had a prettie traine after them." Ac- 
cording to the same writer, the gypsies arrived here 
about 1512, or ten years before the statute 22 Henry 
VIII. c. 10, was passed. This statute commanded 
them to leave the country in sixteen days from the 
date thereof, and forbad any person bringing them 
back to England. 

Page 91, line 2 ; if he scape Tyburn and Banbury~\. 
From Bishop Corbet's Iter Boreale, the town of Ban- 
bury appears to have been inhabited chiefly by Puri- 
tans. It was also celebrated for its tinkers ; but I do 
not understand the allusion in the text. 

Page 91, line 4; An Apparatour]. "A Sergeant, 
beadle, or simmer ; but most commonly used for an 
inferior officer that summons in delinquents to the 
spiritual Court." — Blount's Glossographia. 

Page 91, line 19 ; There icerit hut a paire of sheeres 
hetweene him, &c] This means that there was little 
difference betwixt the two. Marston and other ^ 
writers of his time use the expression. Mr. Halli- 
well has given an apposite quotation from Stephens' 
Essayes, 1615. See his edition of Marston's Dramatic 
Works, ii. 302. 

Page 93, line 3; Ticho Brache']. The illustrious 
astronomer, Tycho Brahe, was originally of Sweden, 
but settled in Denmark, and had an observatory and 
laboratory bestowed oil him in the island of Huen, in 
the Sound, where he maintained ten or twelve young 
men, who assisted him in his observations. 

NOTES. 291 

Page 93, line 22 ; many ride poast to chandlers and 
tobacco shops infolio~\. 

" Did I for this 

Consume my quarters in meditations, vows, 

And woo'd her in Heroical Epistles? 

Did I expound The Owl? 

And undertook, with labour and expense, 

The re-collection of those thousand pieces, 

Consumed in cellars and tobacco-shops, 

Of that our honour'd Englishman, Nich. Breton." 
— Beaumont and Fletcher's Scornful Lady. Works, 
ed. Dyce, iii. 28. 

Page 96, line 16 ; fardle~\. A burden ; also a verb, 
to pack up. This word is used by Shakespeare, 
Drayton, Herrick, and other old writers. Nares says, 
" Fardellus, low Latin ; from which, probably, the 
Italian fardello, the French fardeau, and the Dutch 

Page 98, line 5 ; like a sea-god in a pageant, &c] 
Constructed of laths, or light wicker-work, the ma- 
chinery being concealed by painted cloths. See the 
curious wood-cuts in Mr. Fairholt's Lord Mayors' 
Pageants (Part 1), printed by the Percy Society, 

Page 99, line 9 ; Time is, Time was, &c] See 
" The famous Historie of Fryer Bacon, containing 
the wonderful Things that he did in his Life ; also 
the manner of his Death ; with the Lives and Deaths 
of the two Conjurors Bungye and Vandermast." 
Lond. 4to. This popular Tract is reprinted entire 
in the Miscellanea Antiqua Anglicana, 1816; and in 
Thorns' s Early Prose Romances, 1828. See also 
Greene's Works, by Dyce, i. 215. 

Page 101, line 13; She reads Greenes works, &c] 
" Greene," says Wood, " was author of several things 
which were pleasing to men and women of his time. 

292 NO TES. 

They made much sport, and were valued among 
scholars, but since they have been mostly sold on 
ballad-mongers' stalls." — Fasti Oxon. Part 1, p. 245, 
ed. Bliss. Greene's Works were bought up with 
eagerness, and read with admiration by all classes. 
This not only appears from Nash, but even from the 
testimony of his coward adversary, Gabriel Harvey. 
After saying that not only the fine comedies of the 
daintiest Attic wit were become stale, he proceeds ; 
" even Guicciardini's silver historie, and Ariosto's 
golden cantoes grow out of request, and the Countess 
of Pembroke's Arcadia is not greene enough for queasie 
stomackes, but they must have Greenes Arcadia, and 
I believe most eagerly longed for Greene's Faerie 
Queen." — Four Letters, &c. 1592. 

Page 101, line 14; the Mirror of Knighthood']. 
" The celebrated Espeio de Caballerias, one of the 
romances condemned by the curate in Don Quixote to 
the flames. The first part, consisting of two books, 
and written by Diego Ortunez, was printed in 1562. 
A second part, also divided into two books, by Pedro 
de la Sierra, was published in 1580. The third and 
fourth parts, each consisting of two books, were 
written by Marcos Martinez. The whole work was 
translated into English in nine parts, the last printed 
in 1602, with the title of The Mirrour of Knighthood, 
&c." — Weber. 

Page 101, line 19; sumner]. A popular contrac- 
tion of summoner ; i. e. the officer now called an 

Page 103, line 11 ; Robert Wisdomes Psalms]. For 
an account of Robert Wisdom, one of the metrical 
translators of the Psalms, see Wood's Athena Oxon- 
iensis, vol. 1. Fasti, p. 57. Some of his versions are 
ridiculed in The Remains of Samuel Butler, edit. 1754, 
p. 41 :— 

NOTES. 293 

" Thence, with short meal and tedious grace, 

In a loud tone and public place, 

Sings Wisdom's Hymns, that trot and pace 

As if Goliah scann'd 'em." 
" Robert Wisdome's Delight," is alluded to in Phil- 
lips's Satyr against Hypocrites, 1661, 4to. p. 6. 

Page 103, line 19; ivithout boote~\. The word boot 
is here used in the sense of profit or advantage. 

Page 103, line 22 ; a poire of silke stockings and a 
beaver hat]. The fashionable stockings of this period 
consisted either of woven silk, or were cut out by the 
taylor " from silke, velvet, damaske, or other precious 
stuffe." Decker, in his GulVs Hornbook, advises the 
gallant to " strive to fashion his legs to his silk stock- 
ings, and his proud gate to his broad garters." His 
hat too must be of silk, velvet, taffeta, or beaver, the 
last being the most expensive. In Verses upon the 
order for making Knights of such persons who had £40 
per annum in King James I. time (MS. Addit. 5832, 
Brit. Mus.), we learn the price of a beaver hat of this 
period : — 
" Shepherds leave singing your pastorall sonnetts, 

And to learne complements shew your endeavours : 
Cast off for ever your twoe shillinge bonnetts, 
Cover your coxcombs with three pound beavers." 
Dugdale, in his Diary, April 13th, 1661, minutes 
" payd for a bever hatt, 41. 10s. ;" the fashion of it 
may be seen in Hollar's portrait of that distinguished 

Page 104, line 18; tajfata cloakes in the summer"]. 
" It is also but opinion that a proud coxcombe in the 
fashion, wearing tuffata, and an ill-favoured locke on 
his shoulder, thinkes all that weare cloth, and are out 
of fashion, to be clownes, base, and unworthie his ac- 
quaintance." — The Truth of our Times, by Henry 
Peacham, 12mo. 1638, p. 57. 

294 NOTES. 

Page 105, line 1 ; A meere fellow of an house], i. e. 
of a College. 

Page 105, line 4; If he hath read Tacitus']. Bishop 
Earle, in his Microcosmography, 1628, speaking of 
" A pretender to learning," says, " He has sentences 
for company, some scatterings of Seneca and Tacitus, 
which are good upon all occasions.'' 

Page 105, line 5 ; Guicchardine]. Guicciardini, 
the famous historian, and friend of Machiavel. See 
a list of his works in Haym's Bib. Ital. 1803. 

Page 105, line 5 ; Gallo-Belgicus]. " Gallo- Bel- 
gicus was written in the Latin language, and had the 
following title : — Mercurii Gallo Belgici : sive, 
rerum in Gallia, et Belgio potissimum : Hispania 
quoque, Italia, Anglia, Germania, Polonia, Vicinisque 
locis ab anno 1588, ad Martium anni 1594, gesta?-um, 
Nuncii. The first compiler of Gallo- Bclgicus was 
M. Jansen, a Frisian ; and the first volume in 8vo. 
containing six hundred and fifty pages, was printed 
at Cologne in 1598. It was ornamented with a 
wooden cut, representing Mercury standing on a 
globe, with his usual attributes." — Life of Buddiman, 
pp. 103, 4. The author of Whimzies; or, a New 
Cast of Characters, 1631, in his description of "A 
Corranto Coiner" (p. 15), says, " hee never yet under- 
stood so much Latine as to construe Gallo-Belgicus." 

Page 109, line 9 ; counting at noddy]. A game 
at cards, frequently mentioned by our old dramatists. 
It was played in various ways. See Halliwell's 
Archaic Dictionary, p. 579. 

Page 109, line 10 ; camisado]. " (From the Span- 
ish camisa, i. e. a shirt), a sudden assaulting or sur- 
prisal of the enemy, so tearmed because the souldiers 
that execute it, most commonly wear shirts over their 
armour, or take their enemies in their shirts." Cotgr. 
— Blount's Glossographia, 12mo. 1656. 

NOTES. 295 

Page 111, line 11 ; die on this side Wapping]. The 
usual place of* execution for pirates was at " Wap- 
ping in the Wose" {i.e. Wapping in the wash or drain). 
— Stow by Howes, ed. 1631, p. 697. 

Page 112, line 23; The Lord Mayors triumph]. 
A triumph meant a public show or exhibition ; such 
as a masque, pageant, procession. It is satisfactorily 
explained in the Duke of Anjou's Entertainment at 
Antwerp, 1581 : " Yet notwithstanding, their tri- 
umphs [those of the Romans] have so borne the bell 
above all the rest, that the word triumphing, which 
cometh thereof, hath beene applied to all high, great, 
and statelie doings." 

Page 114, line 22; gards], i.e. facings or trim- 
mings. " Garded or purfled garments." — Hollyband's 
Dictionaire, 1593. 

Page 114, line 24; crosse-gartered gentleman-usher]. 
Cross gartering, so as to represent the varied colours 
of the Scotch plaid, was very common at this period. 

Page 117, line 3; French taylor]. "Now this 
thing we call the Fashion, so much hunted and pur- 
sued after (like a thiefe with an hue and cry) that 
our taylors dog it into France, even to the very doore. 
It reignes commonly like an epidemicall disease, first 
infecting the Court, then the city, after the countrey." 
— The Truth of our Times, by Henry Peacham, 12 mo. 
1638, p. 63. 

Page 117, line 4 ; estridge]. An ostrich. 

Page 117, line 11 ; with a ivrie neche, &c] Shake- 
speare speaks of " the wry-neck 1 d fife" {Merchant of 
Venice, act ii. sc. 5). So Barnaby Rich, in the Apho- 
rismes at the end of his Irish Hubbub, 1618 : "a fife is 
a wry-neckt musician, for he always looks away from 
his instrument." The fife does not mean the instru- 
ment, but the person who played on it. — See Bos- 
well's note in the Variorum Shakespeare, v. 54. 

296 NOTES. 

Page 118, line 1 ; A f aire and happy Milke-mayd]. 
This character has been justly considered one of the 
best of Overbury's delineations. Quaint old Izaak 
Walton says, " I now see it was not without cause, 
that our good Queen Elizabeth did so often wish her- 
self a Milke-maid all the month of May, because they 
are not troubled with fears and cares, but sing sweetly 
all the day, and sleep securely all the night : and 
without doubt honest, innocent, pretty Maudlin does 
so. I'll bestow Sir Thomas Overbury's Milk-maid's 
wish upon her, that she may die in the spring; and 
being dead, may have good store of flowers stuck 
round about her winding sheet." — The Complete 
Angler, chap. iv. 

Page 119, line 22 ; store of flowers stucheupon her 

" Upon her grave the rosemary they threw, 
The daisy, butter'd now'r, and endive blue." 

Gough, in the Introduction to the second volume of 
his Sepulchral Monuments, p. 5, says, " The ancients 
used to crown the deceased with flowers, in token of 
the shortness of life ; and the practice is still retained 
in some places in regard to young women and chil- 
dren. The Roman ritual recommends it in regard of 
those who die soon after baptism, in token of purity 
and virginity. It still obtains in Holland and parts 
of Germany. The primitive Christians buried young 
women with flowers, and martyrs with the instru- 
ments of their martyrdom. I have seen fresh flowers 
put into the coffins of children and young girls." 

Page 121, line 12 ; the paving of SmithflehQ. " And 
this sommer, 1615, the citty of London reduced the 
rude vast place of Smithneld into a faire and comely 
order, which formerly was never held possible to be 
done, and paved it all over, and made divers sewers to 
convey the water from the new channels which were 

NOTES. 297 

made by reason of the new pavement : they also 
made strong rayles round about Smithfield, and se- 
questred the middle part of the said Smithfield into 
a very faire and civill walk, and rayled it round about 
with strong rayles to defend the place from annoy- 
ance and danger, as well from carts as all manner of 
cattell, because it was intended hereafter, that in time 
it might prove a faire and peaceable market-place, by 
reason that Newgate Market, Cheapside, Leadenhall, 
and Gracechurche street, were immeasurably pestred 
with the unimaginable increase and multiplicity of 
market-folkes. And this field, commonly called West 
Smithfield, was for many yeares called ' Ruffian's 
Hall,' by reason it was the usual place of frayes and 
common fighting during the time that sword and 
bucklers were in use. But the ensuing deadly fight 
of rapier and dagger suddenly suppressed the fighting 
with sword and buckler." — Stoic's Chronicle by Howes, 
ed. 1631, p. 1023. 

Page 121, line 14; A Roaring Boy~\. The cant 
name for the roysters of Overbury's time, who took 
delight in annoying quiet people. The allusions to 
them in our early dramas are innumerable. For an 
elaborate picture of a "roarer" see A Fair Quarel, 
Middletoris Works, ed. Dyce, vol. iii. 

Page 122, line 7; prentices on Shrove- Tuesday"]. 
The apprentices of London from time immemorial 
claimed, or at least exercised, the right of attacking 
and demolishing houses of ill-fame on Shrove Tues- 
day. In PasquiFs Palinodia, 1 634, we read : — 

" It was the day, of all days in the year, 
That unto Bacchus hath his dedication, 

When mad-brain'd 'prentices, that no men feare, 
Overthrew the dens of bawdy recreation." 

Page 122, line 27 ; deterre men from taking tobacco]. 
Pennant, speaking of Captain Myddelton, (the brother 

298 NOTES. 

of the more celebrated Sir Hugh) adds, " It is sayed, 
that he, with Captain Thomas Price of Plasyollin, and 
one Captain Koet, were the first who smoked, or (as 
they called it) drank tobacco publickly in London ; and 
that the Londoners flocked from all parts to see 
them. Pipes were not then invented, so they used 
the twisted leaves or segars. The invention is usually 
ascribed to Sir Walter Raleigh. It may be so ; but 
he was too good a courtier to smoke in public, espe- 
cially in the reign of James, who even condescended 
to write a book against the practice, under the title 
of The Counter-blast to Tobacco." — Tours in Wales, 
ii. 151, ed. 1810. The prejudices against tobacco in 
England were very strong for a long time after its 
introduction. " A good vomit," says the quaint old 
Burton, " I confesse, a vertuous herbe, if it be well 
qualified, opportunely taken, and medicinally used ; 
but as it is most commonly used by most men, which 
take it as tinkers do ale, 'tis a plague, a mischiefe, 
a violent purger of goods, lands, health, hellish, de- 
vilsh, damn'd tobacco, the ruin and overthrow of body 
and soule." — Anatomy of Melancholy. 

Page 123, line 7 ; the breiv-houses in S. Catherines']. 
The king's brewery was in the olden time at St. Ca- 
tharine's, near the Tower. See the Diary of Henry 
Machin, printed by the Camden Society, under the 
date Oct. 9th, 1551. 

Page 124, line 3 ; the decay of timber in England]. 
" The 8 of August (1611) the King by proclamation 
very straightly commanded that there should be no 
more encrease of buildings within London and y e 
suburbs, and twenty miles thereof, and to build in 
uniforme of bricke and stone, for the preservation of 
timber, ivhereof there wasplaine appearance of extreame 
want, except by Providence prevented, as also that the 
sudden encreasing of people in London and West- 

NOTES. 290 

minster was the decay and depopulating of many 
townes and hamlets in divers shires, for the more 
speedy and assured redresse whereof, and other 
such like enormities, the king made an other pro- 
clamation the 10 of September following." — Howes' 
Abridgement of the English Chronicle, &c. 1618, 
p. 530. 

Page 125, line 3 ; to know if his suite may passe for 
currant]. Ben Jonson in his admirable play The Devil 
is an Ass, acted in 1616, has a touch at the young 
gallants who frequented the theatre to display their 
fine cloathes. Fitzdottrell (addressing his wife) says : — 
" Here is a cloak cost fifty pounds, wife, 
Which I can sell for thirty, when I have seen 
All London in it, and London has seen me. 
To-day I go to the Blackfriars playhouse, 
Sit in the view, salute all my acopiaintance, 
Rise up between the acts, let fall my cloak, 
Publish a handsome man, and a rich suit ; 
And that's a special end why we go thither, 
All that pretend to stand for't on the stage : 
The ladies ask, who's that ? for they do come 
To see us, love, as we do to see them." 
Page 125, line 14 ; Cornelius']. Probably Cor- 
nelius Agrippa, author of The Vanitie and Uncertaintie 
of Artes and Sciences, Englished by " Ja. San. Gent," 
and printed by Bynneman in 1575. This popular 
work went through many editions. 

Page 125, line 20 ; A Button-maher of Amsterdam.] 
" Wee must make a difference betweene our stricter 
people in England, whom your prophaner sort call 
precisians, and these who are super-intendants over 
a few button-makers and weavers at Amsterdam." — 
Peacham's Truth of our Times, 1638, p. 153. 

Page 127, line 9 ; coistrell]. Halliwell explains 
coistrel, " an inferior groom." {Arch. Diet, in v.) 

300 NOTES. 

Kastril or kastrel, from which this word seems to 
have been derived, was a bastard hawk. 

Page 128, line 16; satinisco]; i.e. an inferior kind 
of satin. 

Page 130, line 18 ; a Brownist\. Robert Brown of 
Rutlandshire, temp. Elizabeth, was the founder of a 
sect violently opposed to the Church of England. His 
followers were termed Brownists. 

Page 131, line 15 ; Ilee pruyes dayly for more in- 
cisures], " Mary for these inclosures doe undoe us 
all, for they make us to pay dearer for our land that 
we occupy, and causes that we can have no lande in 
manner for our money to put to tyllage, all is taken 
up for pasture : for pasture eyther for sheepe, or for 
grasing of cattell, in so much that I have knowne of 
late a dozen ploughs within lesse compasse than six 
myles about mee, layde downe within this seven 
yeares." — Stafford's Brief e Conceipte of English Pol- 
licye, 1581. 

Page 131, line 21 ; the setting up of the Stilyard], 
Steleyard, or Stilliard, in Upper Thames Street, in 
the ward of Dowgate (facing the river), where a 
brick building called the Steelyard still denotes its 
site. " The Steelyard, a place for the merchants of 
Almaine, that used to bring hither as well wheat, 
rye, and other grain, as cables, ropes, masts, pitch, 
tar, mix, hemp, linen cloth, wainscots, wax, steel, and 
other profitable merchandises." — Stoic, p. 87. The 
merchants of the Steelyard were expelled the king- 
dom in 1597-8. See Cunningham's Hand-Booh of 
London, p. 471, ed. 1850. 

Page 132, line 6 ; a motion], i. e. a puppet- 

Page 133, line 25 ; suhsidie]. " Aid or assistance ; 
a tax or tribute assessed by parliament, and granted 
by the Commons to be levied of every subject, ac- 

NOTES. 301 

cording to the value of his land or goods," &c. — 
Blount's Glossographia, 12mo. 1656. 

Page 135, line 15 ; the first man}. A common ex- 
clamation of the old watermen, similar to " next oars." 
A catch or ballad " on the London Watermen," 
printed in the second book of Playford's Pleasant 
Musical Companion, 1687, 4to. affords some illustra- 
tion of the subject : — 

" Will you go by water, sir ? 
I'm the next sculler ; 

Go with my fare up westward, sir, 
My boat shall be no fuller. 

" Next oars, sir, next oars ! 
Whither is't you go ? 

To Foxhall, or Westminster, 
Or through bridge. Ho !" 
Page 136, line 7 ; the playhouses only keep him 
sober]. In 1613 the watermen of London presented a 
petition to James I., praying that the players might 
not be permitted to have a theatre in London or 
Middlesex, within four miles of the Thames, in order 
that the inhabitants might be induced, as formerly, to 
visit the playhouses in Southwark in boats. 

Page 136, line 9; London-bridge is the most terrible 
eye-sore to Mm that can be]. " Some of the arches 
were too narrow for the passage of boats of any kind. 
The widest was only 36 feet, and the resistance 
caused to so large a body of water by this contrac- 
tion of its channel produced a fall or rapid under the 
bridge, so that it was necessary to ' ship oars' to shoot 
the bridge, as it was called, — an undertaking, to ama- 
teur watermen especially, not unattended with dan- 
ger. I may add that with the flood-tide it was impos- 
sible, and with the ebb-tide dangerous to pass through 
or shoot the arches of the bridge ; in the latter case, 
prudent passengers landed above bridge, generally at 

302 NOTES. 

the Old Swan-stairs, and walked to some wharf, gene- 
rally Billingsgate, below it." — Cunningham's Hand- 
Book of London, p. 297, edit. 1850. 

Page 141, line 14; carduus-water]. Perhaps a 
specific discovered by Jerom Cardan, the eminent 
Italian physician ? 

Page 142, line 16 ; a juggler with urinals']. Richard 
Whitlock, whose Zootomia was printed (after his 
death) in 1654, has left us a curious passage concern- 
ing these empirics. " If the waterologer take his de- 
gree in a congregation of sober and rationall physi- 
tians, the title of it will be this in summe, a dangerous 
foole ; and his habit we wil borrow out of that Jewish 
apothecarie's shop Langius speaketh of in his Epistles. 
He had the picture of a foole at the entrance (doing 
as wise men do) laughing on an urinall in his hand ; 
and the apothecary being asked by a physitian (then 
there with laughing) what it meant, he answered he 
had heard from his father and grand-father, physi- 
tians both, that such physitians as would undertake 
to know and pronounce concerning diseases, from the 
deceitfull informations of urines were fools, in deri- 
sion of whom he had made this image his sign." 

Page 142, line 19 ; scouring Moore-ditch"]. " This 
field [Moorefields] untill the third year of King James 
[1606-7] was a most noysome and offensive place, 
being a generall laystall, a rotten morish ground 
whereof it first tooke the name. This fielde for many 
yeares was burrowed and crossed with deep stinking 
ditches and noysome common shewers, and was of 
former times held impossible to be reformed." — 
Howes, ed. 1631, p. 1021. 

Page 142, line 20 ; A Canting Rogue], i. e. a vaga- 
bond ; one who speaks the canting language. 

Page 142, line 22 ; intelligencer]. A spy. 

Page 143, line 16 ; the statute against the exccsse of 

NOTES. 303 

apparett]. Statutes against excess of apparel were 
frequently passed. The earliest " Act of Apparel" 
seems to have been passed in 3 & 4 Edw. IV. 

Page 144, line 1 ; A French Cooke']. French cook- 
ery was at this time very fashionable. Massinger, in 
his City Madam (act i. sc. 1), says in the character 
of Lady Frugal, — 

" I'll have none 

Shall touch what I shall eat, you grumbling cur, 

But Frenchmen and Italians ; they wear satin, 

And dish no meat but in silver." 

Page 150, line 5 ; the country lasses dance in the 
church-yard after even-song]. " For when shal the 
common people have leave to exercise, if not upon the 
Sundayes and Holidayes, seeing they must apply their 
labour, and winne their living in all working dayes ? 
* * And as for our good peoples lawfull recreation, 
our pleasure likewise is, that after the end of Divine 
Service, our good people be not disturbed, letted, or 
discouraged from any lawfull recreation ; such as 
dauncing, either men or women, archerie for men, 
leaping, vaulting, or any other such harmlesse recre- 
ation, nor from having of May-games, Whitson ales, 
and Morris-dances, and the setting up of May-poles, 
and other sports therewith used, so as the same be had 
in due and convenient time, without impediment or 
neglect of Divine Service." — The King's Majesties 
Declaration to his Subjects concerning Lawful Sports 
to he used, 1618. 

Page 150, line 6 ; JRocke Munday]. Dr. Whitaker 
thinks that St. Roche, or Rockes Day (Aug. 16) was 
celebrated as a general harvest-home. Warner (Al- 
bioiis England, ed. 1597, p. 121) speaks of " Rock and 
Plow Monday." 

Page 150, line 6 ; the Wake]. " The Wake day is 
the day on which the parish church was dedicated, 

304 NOTES. 

called so because the night before it they were used to 
watch till morning in the church, and feasted all the 
next day." — Tusser Redivivus, 1744, p. 18. 

Page 150, line 7; Shrovings], Shrove Tuesday, 
when every one was bound to confess and be shrove, 
or shriven. According to Taylor, the water poet, it 
was anything but a day of humiliation. " Always 
before Lent," says this worthy, " there comes wad- 
dling a fat, grosse groome, called Shrove Tuesday, one 
whose manners shews he is better fed than taught, 
and indeed he is the only monster for feeding amongst 
all the dayes of the yeere, for he devoures more flesh 
in fourteene houres than this whole kingdom doth (or 
at the least should doe) in sixe weekes after. Such 
bayling and broyling, such roasting and toasting, such 
stewing and brewing, such baking, frying, mincing, 
cutting, carving, devouring, and gorbellied gorman- 
dizing, that a man would thinke people did take in 
two months' provision at once." 

Page 150, line 7 ; wakeful ketches on Christmas 
Eve~\. No festival of the church was attended by 
more popular superstitions and observances than 
Christinas-eve. Card singing, which our author terms 
" wakeful ketches," were continued through the 
greater part of the night. 

Page 150, line 8 ; the Hoky\. Hock, or Hoke, Day 
or Tide. The derivations of this word are numerous 
and contradictory. According to Douce, it fell upon 
the second Tuesday after Easter, while ancient writers 
say it was celebrated on the quindena Paschre. The 
custom of the day was for both men and women to 
hold a rope across the road, barring the way, and 
pulling to them the passers by, who were obliged to 
pay a toll, which was supposed to be appropriated to 
pious uses. 

Page 150, line 8 ; Secd-cah,c~], So called from one 

NOTES. 305 

of the chief articles provided for the table. It fell at 
the close of wheat-sowing, in October. Tusser says, 

" Wife, sometime this week, if the weather hold 

An end of wheat-sowing we make for this yeere : 

Remember thou therefore, though I do it not, 

The Seed-cake, the pastries, and furmenty pot." 
Tusser Redivivus, p. 147, 
"Warner has the following couplet: — 

" He duly keepe for thy delight Hock Monday and 
the wake, [and seed-cake." 

Have shrovings, Christmas gambols, with the hokie 
Albion s England, ed. 1602, p. 407. 

Page 152, line 7; He never spends candle but at 
Christmas, when he has them for new yeeres gifts']. 
" Christmas," says Blount, " was called the Feast of 
Lights in the Western or Latin Church, because they 
used many lights or candles at the feast, or rather 
because Christ, the light of all lights, that true light, 
then came into the world. Hence the Christmas 
candle, and what was, perhaps, only a succedaneum, 
the yule block, or clog, before candles were in general 
use." — Brand's Popular Antiquities, i. 471, edit. 1849. 
" Christmas candles" are still presented by the chan- 
dlers and grocers to their customers, the origin of 
which may, perhaps, be traced to the Feast of Lights. 

Page 153, line 23 ; his pocket combe~\. " Combing 
the peruke at the time when men of fashion wore 
large wigs, was even at public places an act of gal- 
lantry. The combs for this purpose were of a very 
large size, of ivory or tortoise-shell, curiously chased 
and ornamented, and were carried in the pocket as 
constantly as the snuff-box. At court, on the Mall, 
and in the boxes, gentlemen conversed and combed 
their perukes." — Hawkins's History of Music, vol. iv. 
p. 447. 


306 NOTES. 

Page 153, line 25 ; muchato]. i.e. moustachio. 

Page 154, line 11 ; If he have but twelve-pence iris 
purse, he will give it for the best room in a playhouse]. 
Dekker, in his Gull's Horn-booh, 1609, also thus 
directs bis hero : — " At a new play you take up the 
twelve-penny room next the stage, because the lords 
and you may seem to be hail fellow well met." See 
Collier's Annals of the Stage, iii. 348. 

Page 155, line 6 ; Lord have mercy upon us], " When 
ahouse became infected, the officers impowered for that 
purpose immediately placed a guard before it, which 
continued there night and day, to prevent any person 
going from thence, untill the expiration of forty days. 
At the same time red crosses of a foot long were 
painted upon the doors and windows, with the words, 
Lord have mercy upon us ! in great letters written 
over them, to caution all passengers to avoid infected 
places.'' — Dodsley's Old Plays, by Collier, vol. xi. 
p. 544. 

Page 155, line 8 ; the walks in Moore-fields']. Moor- 
fields was a general promenade for the citizens of 
London during the summer months. Richard John- 
son, the well-known ballad writer, published in 1607, 
The Pleasant Walkes of Moorfelds ; being the guift of 
two Sisters, now beatdified, to the continuing fame of 
this worthy Citty, 4to. " Bedlam" was only separated 
from these "pleasant walks" by a deep ditch. Hence 
the allusion in the text to the "madmen" being so near. 

Page 155, line 25 ; Lachrymce]. This tune is very 
frequently mentioned by the dramatists of James's 
reign. It was composed by John Dowland, the cele- 
brated lutanist, and printed in his work called La- 
chrymal ; or Seven Teares figured in seaven passiojiate 
Pavans, &c. An interesting copy of the air, arranged 
for four voices, is given in D. It. Camphuysens Stickte- 
lycke Rymen, 4to. Amsterdam, 1647. 

NOTES. 307 

Page 158, line 26 ; statute lace] ; i. e. lace prescribed 
by the statute or "Act of Apparel," before mentioned. 

Page 158, line 27 ; durance]. A kind of durable 
stuff, made with thread or silk, so called. It is fre^- 
quently alluded to, often with a play upon the word, 
as in the text. 

Page 158, line 27 ; full of long paines]. Breeches 
formed of stripes, with small panes or squares of silk 
or velvet. 

Page 159, line 24 ; Hee that walftes from six to six in 
Pauls]. " It was the fasbion of those times [James I.] 
and did so continue till these [the interregnum], for 
the principal gentry, lords, courtiers, and men of all 
professions, not merely median icks, to meet in St. 
Pauls church by eleven, and walk in the middle isle 
till twelve, and after dinner, from three to six ; during 
which time some discoursed of business, others of 
news." — Osborne's Traditional Memoires, &c. 12mo. 
J 658. 

Page 159, line 25; but a quoites cast, &c] The 
game of quoits seems to have derived its origin from 
the ancient discus. See a description of it in Strutt's 
Sports and Pastimes, p. 76, ed. Hone. 

Page 161, line 9 ; he sets up a tenters]. A Tenter 
is " a stretcher or trier of cloth used by dyers and 
clothiers, &c." — Jacob. 

Page 161, line 19; like Tamberlaine, with hisblacke 
and bloudy flag]. An allusion to the cruel and 
bombastical character of the hero of Mallow's play of 
Tambitrlaine the Greate, printed in 1590, but acted 
anterior to 1587. Middleton alludes to this character 
in Father Hubburds Tales, 1604, "the ordnance play- 
ing like so many Tamburlaines." — Dyce's Middleton, 
<jr. 588< 

Page 162, line 6 ; a Psalme of Mercy]. It was 
formerly the practice to sing a psalm or hymn at the 

308 NOTES. 

execution of criminals. Tom Brown, in "An Elegy 
on that most orthodox and Pains-taking Divine, Mr. 
Samuel Smith, Ordinary of Neugute, &c. 1698, has the 
following lines : — 

" While Newgate is a mansion for good fellows, 

And Sternhold's rhimes are murder' d at the gal- 

Page 163, line 4; Paris Garden]. On Bankside, 
Southwark ; commonly called the Bear Garden. It 
was originally the site of a house and grounds be- 
longing to Robert de Paris, in the time of Richard II. 
This place of vulgar resort was of an hexagonal shape, 
built with stone and brick, and roofed with rushes; 
the locality is still pointed out by a court bearing the 
name of " Bear-Garden Court." 

Page 163, line 21 ; up Holeborne and so to Tyhurne], 
Holborn was the old road from Newgate and the 
Tower to the gallows at Tyburn. See the curious 
quotations given in Mr. Cunningham's lland-Book of 
London, p. 230, ed. 1850. " Holeburne" seems to 
have been the original name of this locality, and not 
" Oldborne," as generally stated. See an article upon 
this subject in the Gentleman's Magazine for May, 
1856, p. 486. 

Page 167, line 10; the lawes of the Dncllo]. An 
allusion to Selden's pamphlet, entitled The Duello, or 
Single Combat, &c, first printed in quarto, 1610; 
reprinted in his works. 

Page 169, line 5 ; descant on any plaine so7ig]. " To 
run division, or variety with the voice, upon a musical 
ground, [or plain song] in true measure. Trans- 
ferred by metaphor to paraphrasing ingeniously upon 
any affective subject." — Blount's Glossographia. 

Page 171, line 1 ; Newes from any whence]. 
The idea of these little sketches was taken from the 
" news pamphlets," which were much in vogue before 

NOTES. 309 

the establishment of regular newspapers. Thus we 
have Newesfrom the North, 1579 ; Newesfrom Spain 
and Holland, 1593; Newesfrom Gravesend, 1604; 
Newes out of German//, 1612 ; Good Newes from 
Florence, 1614, &c. 

Page 175, line 28; Sir T. Pi.] Sir Thomas Roe. 
He obtained great reputation as a traveller to Turkey, 
Persia, and other parts of the east, •whither he had 
been sent in the capacity of Ambassador, and on his 
return published accounts of what he had observed. 
He represented Oxford in parliament in 1640, and 
Charles I. soon afterwards created him a privy coun- 
cillor and Chancellor of the Order of the Garter. 
He died in 1644. 

Page 176, line 20 ; Christmasse Lords]. The Lords 
of Misrule, or Masters of the revels at Christmas 
time. " These lordes, beginning their rule on Al- 
hollen eve, continued the same till the morrow after 
the feast of the Purification, commonly called Candle- 
mas day. In all which space there were fine and 
subtile disguisings, maskes, and mummeries." — Stow's 

Page 177, line 24 ; J. D.] These are the initials of 
the celebrated Dr. John Donne. The " Newes from 
the verie countrie" is printed in his Poems, ed. 1669, 
p. 395. 

Page 178, line 9; dance the matachine]. The ma- 
tachin seems to be a remnant of the pyrrhica saltatio 
of the ancients. Douce says, " It was well known in 
France and Italy by the name of the dance of fools or 
matachins, who were habited in short jackets, with 
gilt-paper helmets, long streamers tied to their shoul- 
ders, and bells to their legs. They carried in their 
hands a sword and buckler, with which they made a 
clashing noise, and performed various quick and 
sprightly evolutions." — Illustrations of Shakespeare^ 

310 NOTES. 

ii. 435. See also N ares' s Glossary. Jean Tabourot, 
in his curious work on dancing, entitled Orcheso* 
graphie, 1589, 4to. p. 97, gives a description of the 
postures of this dance, and also a specimen of the 

Page 1S2, line 11 ; W. S.] Wye Saltonstall ? 

Page 183, line 1 ; Forren Newes of the Yeere 
1616]. This date is changed with each edition, but 
the news remains the same in all. 

Page 188, line 2 ; a hangd chamber'] ; i. e. a cham- 
ber hung with tapestry. In The Mirrour of Mad- 
nes, 1576, the house of the opulent man is described 
as " hanged wyth clothe of tyssue, arrace, and golde." 
The reader will recollect the description of Imogen's 
chamber in Cymbeline : — 

" Her bed-chamber was hanged 

With tapestry of silk and silver ; the story 

Proud Cleopatra, when she met her Roman." 

Page 188, line 7 ; chambering]. AVantonness, in- 

Page 188, line 8; playing at tables]. " The old 
name for backgammon ; so called also in French, and 
in Latin, tabularum lusus" — Nares. 

Page 188, line 23; B. R.] Benjamin Pudyerd. 
He was of the Middle Temple, and probably well ac- 
quainted with Overbury. His poems, in conjunction 
with those of the Earl of Pembroke, were printed in 

Page 191, line 6 ; a foole at the upper end of the 
table, &c] To sit at the table above or below the 
salt was a mark of distinction in opulent families. 
The salt was contained in a massive silver utensil, 
called a saler, now corrupted into cellar, which was 
placed in the middle of the table ; persons of distinc- 
tion sat nearest the head of the table, or above the 
salt, and inferior relations or dependants below it. 

NOTES. 311 

Page 193, line 1 ; Xewes from the Church]. In 
the sixth edition this is subscribed " Jo. lluddiard." 
Perhaps John liudyerd, the elder brother of Sir 
Benjamin liudyerd, the lawyer and poet ? He matri- 
culated at Oxford, in 1587. 

Page 227, line 17 ; the last great frost], "It was 
owing to a severe frost that the French obtained easy 
access into Holland, which led to its subsequent sub- 
jugation, and present annexation to France." — Park. 

Page 258, line 8 ; The Count of Gondcmore\ Diego 
Sarmiento de Acuna, created Count Gondomar by 
Philip III. He was despatched to England as Ambas- 
sador in 1613, and resided five years in this country. 
A curious account of his early life may be found in 
the Nohiliario genealogico de los Reyes y Titulos de 
Espaha of Lopez de Haro, folio, Madrid, 1622, vol. i. 
pp. 236-238. He died in 1625 at Bommel in Guelder- 
land ; sent, as was supposed, to propose the surrender 
of the Palatine, and conciliate matters ; and bring on 
a peace between his master and our pacific Court. 

chiswick press : 
c. whittingham, tooks court, chaxcert lane. 


Overbury, (Sir) Thomas 
The Miscellaneous works 





£& $ *F M 

■ 3 

' ; \ : *